The moment the rope slips from his right hand and drops, I felt my own wrist go weird. Like your body knows before your brain does. I stared at that rope on the deck for a beat too long.
immense in stature, this one. The expanse of the sea is so prevalent in them. I feel like the cargo... needing rest. The loss of all reasonable attention at the end was incredible ending
This piece is hauntingly beautiful, The imagery of the ports fading into irrelevance and the barge carrying unspoken burdens is so evocative. Truly moving ♥️🙏🏼
The pacing here is striking. It unfolds almost like a fable—spare, deliberate, inevitable. There’s a quiet weight in the idea of obligation outliving its purpose.
Thank you JG - I’m grateful you felt that rhythm and vibrations here.
Obligation fascinates me, especially when it continues walking long after its original fire has gone out. Sometimes what remains is not duty, but echo.
And all this unfinished shipyard here still processed inside of my mind…
I can honestly say I have not encountered any other writing like yours. It carries the vibration and energy of ancient civilizations, eons of time and dormant, sleeping deities. So, so good.
First of all, that image at the end is spellbinding. Listen, this is great stuff. I love stories like this. I love the message - sacrifice only has meaning in relation to what receives it. We all know sacrifice assumes a receiver. But what happens when the altar disappears? Of what use is a sacrifice when the cost is paid but the cargo is not deliverable?
Thank you Sal, for reading so deeply, for amazing comment and restack - I’m really glad it resonated.
Yes, that’s the tension. Sacrifice only makes sense if something can receive it. When the altar disappears, the act doesn’t - it just hangs there, unresolved.
Maybe that’s the real unease: not wasted devotion, but devotion with nowhere to land.
This is so immersive and mesmerizing. I feel my wrist ache, as his does. I can sense the importance of conversing with the cargo and the barge. Each stop, each port carries the ache and emptiness that persists amidst signs of economic (and meaning’s) obsolescence.
Exhausted and blind, he searched for every known witness's eyes, unaware he was watched by others. They forsook Reason before Dómhofn was disbarred. Oh, man!
This reads like a study in obligation after its addressee has disappeared. Justice, Vengeance, Reckoning, Settlement, Lok: each port is less a place than a logic, and Týr’s body keeps the record of that shift long after meaning has left it. What moved me most is that nothing here collapses into drama: the hand fails, the barge lightens, the work continues. When Dómhǫfn is finally released, it isn’t triumph or loss, it’s the quiet terror of a system that can close its accounts without remembering who carried the weight. The ending doesn’t resolve; it withdraws its reason. And that feels painfully true.
The story feels like watching someone carry a duty long after the world has stopped asking for it, and that’s what makes it so quietly devastating. Týr keeps moving because it’s the only thing he knows, even as every port he reaches shows him he’s no longer needed. His injured hand says more than any dialogue could the body breaking under a weight the heart refuses to put down. The barge becomes almost a companion, the one thing that still gives his effort meaning. Each port reflects a different way people deal with responsibility, and none of them have space for what he’s still holding. The moment he realises the need for him has vanished feels like something inside him just… pauses. Letting the barge sink reads less like surrender and more like an act of kindness, a release he never allowed himself. And in the end, the saddest part is how he fades not because he’s forgotten, but because the world no longer has room for someone who still believes obligation should matter. It’s a story about carrying too much, for too long, in a world that has already moved on.
Thank you Palaidian - that’s a powerful way to read it.
A long hold… yes, I think the piece lives in that suspended space - where breath stretches and time loosens its grip. If it carried sound for you, then it did what it was meant to do.
The moment the rope slips from his right hand and drops, I felt my own wrist go weird. Like your body knows before your brain does. I stared at that rope on the deck for a beat too long.
Thank you Asuka
You just uncovered hidden layer
Appreciate you reading always
This makes me think of what the meaning is behind obligations and that there is still meaning after obligation it’s just different
immense in stature, this one. The expanse of the sea is so prevalent in them. I feel like the cargo... needing rest. The loss of all reasonable attention at the end was incredible ending
Your writing is mystical, moving soul and life itself rather than the mind. Enchanting!
I can see how your work influences your writing now... is this done with awareness? If not, would you have preferred not to think of it? haha
Full awareness
Limited control
Nice. It works out.
Full awareness
Limited control
This piece is hauntingly beautiful, The imagery of the ports fading into irrelevance and the barge carrying unspoken burdens is so evocative. Truly moving ♥️🙏🏼
Thank you Aaliya - I’m deeply glad it moved you.
The barge, for me, carries what we never quite name, and the fading ports are places we once thought would save us.
I’m grateful it resonated with you.
Still living this concept, and next peice coming today…
Excited to read :-)
The pacing here is striking. It unfolds almost like a fable—spare, deliberate, inevitable. There’s a quiet weight in the idea of obligation outliving its purpose.
Beautifully rendered, Óðr Sierra Sierra.
Thank you JG - I’m grateful you felt that rhythm and vibrations here.
Obligation fascinates me, especially when it continues walking long after its original fire has gone out. Sometimes what remains is not duty, but echo.
And all this unfinished shipyard here still processed inside of my mind…
I can honestly say I have not encountered any other writing like yours. It carries the vibration and energy of ancient civilizations, eons of time and dormant, sleeping deities. So, so good.
Thank you Alicia - that truly means a great deal to me.
If it carries something ancient, perhaps it is only because I try to listen carefully to what moves beneath language and time.
And you are very good at that! It comes through in your beautiful writing.
First of all, that image at the end is spellbinding. Listen, this is great stuff. I love stories like this. I love the message - sacrifice only has meaning in relation to what receives it. We all know sacrifice assumes a receiver. But what happens when the altar disappears? Of what use is a sacrifice when the cost is paid but the cargo is not deliverable?
Fabulous work here.
Thank you Sal, for reading so deeply, for amazing comment and restack - I’m really glad it resonated.
Yes, that’s the tension. Sacrifice only makes sense if something can receive it. When the altar disappears, the act doesn’t - it just hangs there, unresolved.
Maybe that’s the real unease: not wasted devotion, but devotion with nowhere to land.
“devotion with nowhere to land”… you have synthesized it perfectly. I might add you to the @PepeWrites club for succinct and pithy sayings. 👌👍💪
Please do, subbed there
and thanks again
Ayo! Thanks for joining, I’ll be peeping your stuff as well 🫣
This is so immersive and mesmerizing. I feel my wrist ache, as his does. I can sense the importance of conversing with the cargo and the barge. Each stop, each port carries the ache and emptiness that persists amidst signs of economic (and meaning’s) obsolescence.
Exhausted and blind, he searched for every known witness's eyes, unaware he was watched by others. They forsook Reason before Dómhofn was disbarred. Oh, man!
This reads like a study in obligation after its addressee has disappeared. Justice, Vengeance, Reckoning, Settlement, Lok: each port is less a place than a logic, and Týr’s body keeps the record of that shift long after meaning has left it. What moved me most is that nothing here collapses into drama: the hand fails, the barge lightens, the work continues. When Dómhǫfn is finally released, it isn’t triumph or loss, it’s the quiet terror of a system that can close its accounts without remembering who carried the weight. The ending doesn’t resolve; it withdraws its reason. And that feels painfully true.
The story feels like watching someone carry a duty long after the world has stopped asking for it, and that’s what makes it so quietly devastating. Týr keeps moving because it’s the only thing he knows, even as every port he reaches shows him he’s no longer needed. His injured hand says more than any dialogue could the body breaking under a weight the heart refuses to put down. The barge becomes almost a companion, the one thing that still gives his effort meaning. Each port reflects a different way people deal with responsibility, and none of them have space for what he’s still holding. The moment he realises the need for him has vanished feels like something inside him just… pauses. Letting the barge sink reads less like surrender and more like an act of kindness, a release he never allowed himself. And in the end, the saddest part is how he fades not because he’s forgotten, but because the world no longer has room for someone who still believes obligation should matter. It’s a story about carrying too much, for too long, in a world that has already moved on.
I love the detail, so vivid and bold. What a great read, thank you for sharing ❤️
This was one of my favorite pieces you have ever posted.
Thank you Palaidian - that’s a powerful way to read it.
A long hold… yes, I think the piece lives in that suspended space - where breath stretches and time loosens its grip. If it carried sound for you, then it did what it was meant to do.
I’m grateful you felt it that deeply.
The BEAUTYfull DRAWing of @alestramorra
MADE A BREAK, ...
When the EYE can pierce THROUGH the misty , early Morning Dew, ... where Sleep is yet still Life... -
Thank you both for sharing this. With Anticipation for more Drawings and Writes