Carefully construct the criticism needed to oil the gears;
pushing, pulling, straining, levying against gravity to glide through fears.
If it’s oil that propels machines; it’s my wit that keeps me human.
Knowing that I’m just another nothing to continue decomposition.
Oil surging from the un-capped pipe leading straight into the river. The river, the clear wild as it was once called by our ancestors. Now all it is is a cesspool filled with misuse and blind eyes.
Someday I would love someone to love me like Popeye loved Olive Oyl. He loved her in every situation, no matter what she did and no matter how fickle she was. He knew her heart and loved her. But I would try to be better worthy of a love like that. I would be fiercely loyal and honestly loving- even while defending myself against all comers.
Oil is a very fine substance. It can be used in cooking, or on your skin to keep it soft. It can be different types as well. Vegetable, peanut, canola. Which is better, and why? It’s just oil, isn’t it? And then there’s the oil that comes from the rigs out at sea. That deep black kind of oil that spills into the ocean and distresses the land.
the oil was thick, smooth, black as sin… it disgusted her.
All she could think about what setting fire to it to get rid of it….
of course that wouldn’t work… that would cause more harm than good… what could she do? It was swathing the animals, the rocks, the children… when did it get here?
She glanced out passed the buoy and saw the ship tipped over, oil spilling out.
oil spills are bad for the environment. you also cook with oil but it sometimes makes food greasy. vigine olive oil is used in many italian foods but i really don’t like the taste of it
The oil spewed from the spout and started a fire. Thirty men died that day, Their families left to live their lives without them. The first month was the hardest, they didn’t know how they would get by.
don’t kill for oil, was cried out during the gulf war. but do people still kill for oil? perhaps. is that what let us live? no. in this sense it’s killing us.
black and glassy, strong as a foundation but devilish in its resilience. nations have toppled and wars have and will continue to mount in the reach for oil
The oil spill in the Gulf caused problems for people and animals alike. Because of the need for people to evacuate, merchants with business in that region lost a lot of money. Also, animals native to that region were killed by the toxins released with the spill.
Maskia had recently found a new form of occupation on the foreign land. At first his pre-existing conceptions had hindered his opinions of the region. However at the days continued to platonically passed his relationship with Aian had also conceived a pleasing new revelation. Only so many miles from the bay of the region lied a crescent shaped facility, most noticeably unheard of until recent. Locals had informed the two that the newly built landmark acted as a form of refinery, more than likely for the plausible oil deposit famous by neighboring islands.
Black foul spittting throwing up from the earth it bubbles and draws us in with its seductive allure. it tricks us sweetly- we fail to open our eyes until its too late.
The rain poured down. It stuck to everything, thick and glistening like oil. John stared out of the window. It seemed like only yesterday that Sherlock had disappeared. In reality it was closer to three years.
John nearly wretched at the smell as Sherlock came upstairs, his trench coat drenched in motor oil and mud. He rushed to open a window, coughing into a sleeve as Sherlock stood dripping in the doorway, nearly oblivious to John’s discomfort. After letting the room air out a bit, John took Sherlock’s coat and tossed it into the bathtub with soap and hot water. “What in god’s name were you thinking?!?” He nearly shrieked at Sherlock, who had settled himself into an armchair with his violin and two nicotine patches, “Those fumes can be deadly if inhaled in great quantities!”
Sherlock only shrugged into his violin, as though pointing out he weren’t dead. It couldn’t be helped, when Moriarty’s henchmen insisted on dragging him into a refinery.
Oil was everywhere, in my hair, all over the floor. I had no idea it would do that. I was burning. My face, my eyes. My hands were coated. What the hell was i going to do about all this oil everywhere. Next time we do thanksgiving at my house i wont be frying a turkey.
it’s easier to watch the stain spread than do something, john thinks, which is probably because he’s pinned down under most of a wall, watching the rainbow tick closer and closer to the flames, and he thinks that at least he’ll go out in a blaze of glory, blaze, ha-ha, and then there’s a roar.
it feels like everyone has forgotten about the oil spill. i guess if i’m being honest, i have too. are animals still suffering? is the ocean still coated with the slick stuff? i don’t know. but i want to.
Oil on his hair, greasy, sleazy oily hair with drag marks where he ran his nicotine stained fingers through it. An old knit cap perched on top of his raggedy gray hair and all I can do is gag, thinking of drops of oil sliding off those nasty fingers.
The oil spits and hisses in the old cast iron pan, singing out a familiar tune. Every so often a drop jumps up and bites her on the wrist or hands, but she’s long since stopped caring. Her hands are rough and spotted anyway. Wrinkled, stained, and old. Many would say they’re ugly. She doesn’t think so. To her, they are good hands. Hands that can take some oil splatters as she cooks breakfast for the girl that stumbled in from the storm late last night.
Ugly stuff. oil – black, shiny, like tar. Oil messes with beaches and smells bad. Those big monster things dig it out of the ground. Scary monster things. Oil is dirty and dirty and dirty. Who the hell decided we needed to dig it out of the earth? Whose idea was that?
The end of the earth, if we keep relying on it. I cook with olive oil, but I’m almost out. Maybe my mom will buy me some new oil when she gets here. I really don’t like oil on my face or my hands.
it was chanukah recently. i told the people im staying with that its important to eat food with lots of oil in it for chanukah. alotta people down here have never met jews before. most of think im black when they meet me.
They say money is the root of all evil. I don’t believe it. I think oil is. At least in this day and age. The fight for oil is what fuels so many of the wars in the world today. Looking forward to the time when we find a different source of energy that keeps us out of the sands of the middle east.
oil floats on water. oil is hard to get off
oil is annoying
oil is sticky
An oil is any substance that is liquid at ambient temperatures and does not mix with water but may mix with other oils and organic solvents. This general definition includes vegetable oils, volatile essential oils, petrochemical oils, and synthetic oils.
The frypan heats. I’m afarid. The oil splatters every where. I want to turn off the stove. I stretch out my arm to reach for the knob. OUCH!!!!! (seven times)
is a bad thing it floods the ocean and kills lots of animals but it also fill up our car so it can goooooooo! This is fun…Lol Penis jk Im bored and cant think of anything.
In grade seven I heard that if you bathed in baby oil it would make your skin soft. I didn’t realize my skin was already soft, so I did it. Oily hair for a week. Couldn’t wash it enough.
We are about to have a salad. The Universe waits. Seriously, the entire thing, from cosmos to clam, is balanced on the edge of a turnip slice. The crowd is frozen in anticipation, hands apart, the riot of clapping to come.
oil drips and seeps and slicks along things. its enemy seems to be water, in large scale and in small. on the bread table, it seeks to please the taste buds with vinegar emulsifying (if i remember that word correctly, anyhow). there are so many oils from seeds and plants, there are oils from our pores. oil is life, and olives, and cooking.
People are always trying to cut oil out of there diet. Or cut it down in the least. Everyone’s so obsessed with being thin. Guess what? You’re all beautiful. With or without oil.
Stink, I step over the spill and shake my head. My husband is going to kill me. The Tahoe, flipped. The tires, spinning. The tree, gone. The oil, spilled. The baby…the baby? Where is the baby? Stink!
We threw the holy oil around Lucifer before he woke up, and ignited the trail with my sister’s Zippo Lighter. The flames woke Lucifer up, and he swore loudly as he realized the position he was in. He was trapped, and we had the one device that could kill him. He was going to die and this was finally going to be over.
Oil seems like its a valuable thing but is the cause of wars, blood, death. and not to mention killing so many animal species. Isn’t there another way to power things in this world that doesn’t kill anyone?
Carefully construct the criticism needed to oil the gears;
pushing, pulling, straining, levying against gravity to glide through fears.
If it’s oil that propels machines; it’s my wit that keeps me human.
Knowing that I’m just another nothing to continue decomposition.
Oil surging from the un-capped pipe leading straight into the river. The river, the clear wild as it was once called by our ancestors. Now all it is is a cesspool filled with misuse and blind eyes.
Someday I would love someone to love me like Popeye loved Olive Oyl. He loved her in every situation, no matter what she did and no matter how fickle she was. He knew her heart and loved her. But I would try to be better worthy of a love like that. I would be fiercely loyal and honestly loving- even while defending myself against all comers.
Oil is a very fine substance. It can be used in cooking, or on your skin to keep it soft. It can be different types as well. Vegetable, peanut, canola. Which is better, and why? It’s just oil, isn’t it? And then there’s the oil that comes from the rigs out at sea. That deep black kind of oil that spills into the ocean and distresses the land.
the oil was thick, smooth, black as sin… it disgusted her.
All she could think about what setting fire to it to get rid of it….
of course that wouldn’t work… that would cause more harm than good… what could she do? It was swathing the animals, the rocks, the children… when did it get here?
She glanced out passed the buoy and saw the ship tipped over, oil spilling out.
oil spills are bad for the environment. you also cook with oil but it sometimes makes food greasy. vigine olive oil is used in many italian foods but i really don’t like the taste of it
The oil spewed from the spout and started a fire. Thirty men died that day, Their families left to live their lives without them. The first month was the hardest, they didn’t know how they would get by.
don’t kill for oil, was cried out during the gulf war. but do people still kill for oil? perhaps. is that what let us live? no. in this sense it’s killing us.
black and glassy, strong as a foundation but devilish in its resilience. nations have toppled and wars have and will continue to mount in the reach for oil
The oil spill in the Gulf caused problems for people and animals alike. Because of the need for people to evacuate, merchants with business in that region lost a lot of money. Also, animals native to that region were killed by the toxins released with the spill.
Maskia had recently found a new form of occupation on the foreign land. At first his pre-existing conceptions had hindered his opinions of the region. However at the days continued to platonically passed his relationship with Aian had also conceived a pleasing new revelation. Only so many miles from the bay of the region lied a crescent shaped facility, most noticeably unheard of until recent. Locals had informed the two that the newly built landmark acted as a form of refinery, more than likely for the plausible oil deposit famous by neighboring islands.
Black foul spittting throwing up from the earth it bubbles and draws us in with its seductive allure. it tricks us sweetly- we fail to open our eyes until its too late.
The rain poured down. It stuck to everything, thick and glistening like oil. John stared out of the window. It seemed like only yesterday that Sherlock had disappeared. In reality it was closer to three years.
John nearly wretched at the smell as Sherlock came upstairs, his trench coat drenched in motor oil and mud. He rushed to open a window, coughing into a sleeve as Sherlock stood dripping in the doorway, nearly oblivious to John’s discomfort. After letting the room air out a bit, John took Sherlock’s coat and tossed it into the bathtub with soap and hot water. “What in god’s name were you thinking?!?” He nearly shrieked at Sherlock, who had settled himself into an armchair with his violin and two nicotine patches, “Those fumes can be deadly if inhaled in great quantities!”
Sherlock only shrugged into his violin, as though pointing out he weren’t dead. It couldn’t be helped, when Moriarty’s henchmen insisted on dragging him into a refinery.
Oil was everywhere, in my hair, all over the floor. I had no idea it would do that. I was burning. My face, my eyes. My hands were coated. What the hell was i going to do about all this oil everywhere. Next time we do thanksgiving at my house i wont be frying a turkey.
it’s easier to watch the stain spread than do something, john thinks, which is probably because he’s pinned down under most of a wall, watching the rainbow tick closer and closer to the flames, and he thinks that at least he’ll go out in a blaze of glory, blaze, ha-ha, and then there’s a roar.
it feels like everyone has forgotten about the oil spill. i guess if i’m being honest, i have too. are animals still suffering? is the ocean still coated with the slick stuff? i don’t know. but i want to.
Oil on his hair, greasy, sleazy oily hair with drag marks where he ran his nicotine stained fingers through it. An old knit cap perched on top of his raggedy gray hair and all I can do is gag, thinking of drops of oil sliding off those nasty fingers.
house,stove,black,texas,digging
The oil spits and hisses in the old cast iron pan, singing out a familiar tune. Every so often a drop jumps up and bites her on the wrist or hands, but she’s long since stopped caring. Her hands are rough and spotted anyway. Wrinkled, stained, and old. Many would say they’re ugly. She doesn’t think so. To her, they are good hands. Hands that can take some oil splatters as she cooks breakfast for the girl that stumbled in from the storm late last night.
Ugly stuff. oil – black, shiny, like tar. Oil messes with beaches and smells bad. Those big monster things dig it out of the ground. Scary monster things. Oil is dirty and dirty and dirty. Who the hell decided we needed to dig it out of the earth? Whose idea was that?
Oil and water.
Water and Oil.
I think we hate each other. Maybe. I don’t know.
Is it the color of my skin? The shade of my hair? The glitter on my eyes? The sound of my sigh?
It’s got to be something. It’s got to be me. I must’ve done something horrible, that’s the only reason you could hate me.
Maybe I’m just ugly, maybe I don’t belong, but I do wish that you could see past it and see that I mean no harm.
I’m just another person, a shadow of a human. I’m just another nobody, just like you.
fish oil, that’s the smell i remember. a broken food supplement pill on the formica kitchen side, oozing slowly toward the ceramic hob.
The end of the earth, if we keep relying on it. I cook with olive oil, but I’m almost out. Maybe my mom will buy me some new oil when she gets here. I really don’t like oil on my face or my hands.
it was chanukah recently. i told the people im staying with that its important to eat food with lots of oil in it for chanukah. alotta people down here have never met jews before. most of think im black when they meet me.
Oil
They say money is the root of all evil. I don’t believe it. I think oil is. At least in this day and age. The fight for oil is what fuels so many of the wars in the world today. Looking forward to the time when we find a different source of energy that keeps us out of the sands of the middle east.
oil floats on water. oil is hard to get off
oil is annoying
oil is sticky
An oil is any substance that is liquid at ambient temperatures and does not mix with water but may mix with other oils and organic solvents. This general definition includes vegetable oils, volatile essential oils, petrochemical oils, and synthetic oils.
The frypan heats. I’m afarid. The oil splatters every where. I want to turn off the stove. I stretch out my arm to reach for the knob. OUCH!!!!! (seven times)
is a bad thing it floods the ocean and kills lots of animals but it also fill up our car so it can goooooooo! This is fun…Lol Penis jk Im bored and cant think of anything.
In grade seven I heard that if you bathed in baby oil it would make your skin soft. I didn’t realize my skin was already soft, so I did it. Oily hair for a week. Couldn’t wash it enough.
“Fetch me some oil, Malachi, “the old man’s voice intoned.
Jensen could hear the footsteps on the barn floor and soon could feel the heat emanating from the iron on his neck.
“Just right there below the ear, now. Gently. No slipping this time,! the voice guided.
We are about to have a salad. The Universe waits. Seriously, the entire thing, from cosmos to clam, is balanced on the edge of a turnip slice. The crowd is frozen in anticipation, hands apart, the riot of clapping to come.
Oils help Vampires dance the Fango LoL Fango But oil is bad for your skin and there’s
What a mess. “Don’t talk politics!”
You are dumb and, alas, free to remain so.
oil drips and seeps and slicks along things. its enemy seems to be water, in large scale and in small. on the bread table, it seeks to please the taste buds with vinegar emulsifying (if i remember that word correctly, anyhow). there are so many oils from seeds and plants, there are oils from our pores. oil is life, and olives, and cooking.
People are always trying to cut oil out of there diet. Or cut it down in the least. Everyone’s so obsessed with being thin. Guess what? You’re all beautiful. With or without oil.
Stink, I step over the spill and shake my head. My husband is going to kill me. The Tahoe, flipped. The tires, spinning. The tree, gone. The oil, spilled. The baby…the baby? Where is the baby? Stink!
everything was dead as midnight
as we slipped and soaked and succumbed to the flow.
we were here.
we bled your fuel.
We threw the holy oil around Lucifer before he woke up, and ignited the trail with my sister’s Zippo Lighter. The flames woke Lucifer up, and he swore loudly as he realized the position he was in. He was trapped, and we had the one device that could kill him. He was going to die and this was finally going to be over.
Oil seems like its a valuable thing but is the cause of wars, blood, death. and not to mention killing so many animal species. Isn’t there another way to power things in this world that doesn’t kill anyone?