“For those who taped their blisters and kept their mouths shut.”
Righteous ones—earned by fury, by the oars bent like rebar against the water’s anvil.
Shameful ones—born of slop, of catches timid as liars, finishes lazy as sin.
The blood makes no distinction— it pools in sinners’ palms and saints’ alike.
So, tape your hands tonight. Tomorrow demands new skin to flay.
—anonymous rower One of us
In every race… the River of Ages coughs up three spirits:
the bloated corpse, the quitter, and the suicidal bastard who’d rather die than lose.
The river feeds them to you, lets them crawl into your boat, into your bones.
One will drag you under. One will beg you to stop. One will drive you to glory.
Drown the first two.
YOU— beautiful bastard
ROW!
—anonymous rower One of us
You might be the second-worst rower, but you're still in the boat. The oar is in your hands, you pull with the others, and the boat moves forward. That’s the whole damn point.
—anonymous rower One of us
Back bent. Chained to the furnace, la pala in hand.
Coal. Coal. Coal.
Stroke after stroke, he feeds the beast— oars cracking, river screaming, hell’s train rolling on.
Nº 6 Shoveling coal ’til kingdom come.
—anonymous rower One of us