Dirty, filthy killing machine. People die, but they also live. Do you see the problem?
Bethany
NO. not a thing im enjoy. it tastes bad and the car like it and i just dont want it. cooking oil however is good times. pretty frequently used in my house. i think too much but i dislike crude oil its a sad thing. I heard hydrogen was the new thing? Maybe Hellium cause its non flamable? who knows but im just super not down for crude oil.
Thomas
The ground was slick with the life force of the vehicle. Black and shiny, the girl was in awe of the beauty of something so fundamentally awful. The girl had never realized the importance of the ugly things, the reason for the base ingredients of life.
The sound of metal grinding on metal filled the air, while a oily glaze of sweat doused my forehead and prickled against the skin of the rest of my body. The hammer felt good under my calloused, blistered fingers. A sense of purpose with each swing, a priorital need for responsibility.
Like oil does to fire, she fueld his anger easily enough for him to erupt like a raging flame. And like these fires, it was uneasy to put his anger out.
Oil of Olay was my grandmother’s favorite brand of nighttime cream. The faint smell of it always lingered on her skin, even after she died.
Francesca Cotta
Oil was spilling out the bottom of the car; she had no idea what to do. She scanned the traffic hopefully, looking for someone who looked like they might be able to help, if she could pluck up the courage to help. That’s when she saw him walking towards here, he didn’t look like the type that would know how to help her but she tried to keep her mind open. The expensive silk tie, freshly ironed crisp shirt and shiny black shoes didn’t fill her with confidence either; he grinned as he approached
‘Hi. I’m Oliver – you look like you could use a hand’
She looked at the recipe book again, just to make sure she got the measurements right. “One teaspoon of oil, one quarter cup of salamander juice, one eyeball of lizard,” she murmured, and stirred the pot a couple of times again.
Francesca Cotta
He gargled the oil–and then swallowed the oil–and then told me that it would help loosen up his bones. I stood in wonder, in fascination, looking at this man, trying to figure out how I could get him an application for the circus.
it made me fall off my bike! how could you do that to me, oil?!? I thought we were freinds?
(at least my tummy is freinds with you!)
anonymous
The spill of the sentry happened yesterday and all I could do was to stand there in awe full awe watching as the oil infested waters were slowly killing the wildlife. it was horrible.
Brandon Sandén
He tossed the noodles into the vegetables and pork, then drizzled sesame oil over the final dish.
“Just like your mama used to make?” she asked.
He chuckled. “I don’t think my mom even knew sesame seeds could be oil,” he replied.
The oil spill in the south pacific has destroyed much of the ocean and the animals in the ocean. (not sure if it is real, don’t think so)
Zarina
I’m slipping across the kitchen floor
this dark, slick substance was not here before.
Why can’t I reach the counter top?
I’m sliding down- help, I can’t stop.
My legs give way underneath my waist
Down to the floor, into the substance goes my face
Rolling over to study this liquid’s nature,
I realize something terrible about the color.
My eyes widen in horror at the scarlet red
This haunting puddle was spewing out from my head.
We cook with it because it’s healthier and try to eradicate it when it comes out of our skin. Some of us drill for it, some of us debate about it. You saute a green pepper in extra virgin like the lady on TV said and think of your nephew in Iraq.
this is stuck, give me some of that oil over there. when was the last time you used this confounded thing? looks rustier than my knees. here, hold this wrench for a sec while i drench this sucker. damn that is stuck…
In the early part of the 20th century there were many looking for the next big oil field – what is known today as the Middle East. But something blocked their way, something called World War I.
betsy
The food was elaborately prepared: a tiny morsel laid out on a huge plate like a baby in a full-size coffin, all surrounded with a lace of baby greens and slicked with a dab of truffle oil.
It is true that I like to give massages. Maybe it’s because I know I’m good with my hands and my fingers are fairly dextrous. Maybe it’s because I like mixing oils, either cold pressed or those that go solid at room temperature only to melt once they touch a body. Sometimes there is a hint of lemon or lavender, maybe cinnamon or bergamot or almond or peppermint. Maybe it’s because I know how bones are connected and how nerves can turn muscles into knots. Maybe there is a certain joy in starting from the top and working my way down, feeling how these ministrations do their work the further I progress. Maybe it’s all those things infused into the tips of fingers spreading out like wings, circling, deepening the pressure, lightening up, stroking softly, around and around and around, rhythmically, methodically, repetitiously, till I’m almost as at peace as the one who’s being kneaded into bliss. Maybe there are times when it is better to give than to receive.
Elijah is cunning in the sense that he is able to step quietly away from a conversation and not expect anyone to stop him in return. He slips out of grasps and tangles with his words, easing back like any slick, well-defined politician would. He separates himself from the rest of the pool the minute something tangible and threatening shows itself- Elijah is good at slipping away.
“It’s not running, not even that.” He explains once to Meredith when they are alone again, confined to shadows and four walls hidden from view. Never does he find himself prompt to explain his actions to Meredith, but when he does he says it with a smile that seems to form involuntarily on his lips. “I know exactly what I’m doing, Meredith. We’ll be safe.”
And does Meredith ever know. He can tell the moment Elijah shifts a foot and he’s already a step behind him. He can see the change in tone in which Elijah brings a conversation to a halt and leaves one stumped, stupefied. Meredith is very thankful for the times Elijah has pulled him and himself from the imminence of attachment, especially regarding those they don’t know and will never know again.
But what Elijah doesn’t know, is that Meredith also hopes. Hopes he won’t just as easily, and just as silently, slip from his fingers.
The oily substance was sticky on her hands, and as she lifted them up, trying to shake the goop off, it stuck. Kestrel cried out, terrified, as oil began to slick up her arms, and she stared at Pascal in horror as it all happened to her.
“Please,” she begged. “Please, no…”
“This is what you get for taking what doesn’t belong to you,” snapped Pascal.
Then the oil consumed her.
i dont like oii, it makes me looks really simple . well this is not how i want to look, i want to look bold, always. may be it is a mask for me, since i am just not as bold as i think i should be.
tanvi malhara
It is black in color, and thick and has a strong odor. However, it is the most important find in the twentieth century. I am referring the oil, the spirit of of the modern world.
A film lies comfortably
Atop an ocean.
The Sun is on holiday.
Permanent night – but
No stars.
In the darkness, A
Garbage blanket strewn over
A body.
The ocean now lies in the morgue.
is iridescent, a slick of brown, purple, blue, green, shimmery. It’s slippery and I take care to avoid stepping in it while walking in parking lots. Can’t live without it, like a poison that makes the world go around, lines the pockets of some, chokes the lungs of others. We’re slaves to it.
Chloe
After my grandma’s been cooking in the kitchen, the floor is always slippery with oil. You could skate in socks. “How much did you use?” mom would ask, concerned. “A bit of oil brings out the fragrance in the vegetables,” she said, “just like in life.” They had different definitions of what constituted “a bit.”
it’s been so long since she’s seen the sky that the only rainbows she can recall are those that sparkle poisonously from the oil stains on the floor of her stone prison.
I’m 24 and I cannot reconcile the fact that for me to have a comfortable life, someone else must suffer.
The bigger pictures is that oil must continue to flow for the greater good, while groups of people have their ways of life destroyed as a direct result of it.
Debates on the subject often result in the statement “well oil is used for so many things, we can’t just give it up.” That’s a very similar argument to what an alcoholic would say about his/her alcohol.
Oil doesn’t mix with water. I learned that my first day in chemistry. A single drop of soap into the oil and water was enough to separate them.
A single drop of soap isn’t enough. The oil coats the water, turning it into a dirty, fowl, black.
we’re oil and water, we will never combine
two polar opposites; you will never be mine.
you’re the water I thirst for, my lips lonely and dry
I am the oil you wash off without the slightest goodbye.
Patterson had made a monumental bet on the price of oil. With weapons piling into Syria he knew it was only a matter of time before the Middle East capitulated into disorderly meltdown. With the gulf in chaos he would be in the money. But he only had three months.
I had crafted a tool for you,
and I use it, and use it — still.
My mind wandered away,
but I’d not gone astray,
when I climbed all the way down the hill.
Vegetable oil is the best replacement for butter when cooking. Many people try very hard to lose weight but butter is so essential to cooking in our society.
Dirty, filthy killing machine. People die, but they also live. Do you see the problem?
NO. not a thing im enjoy. it tastes bad and the car like it and i just dont want it. cooking oil however is good times. pretty frequently used in my house. i think too much but i dislike crude oil its a sad thing. I heard hydrogen was the new thing? Maybe Hellium cause its non flamable? who knows but im just super not down for crude oil.
The ground was slick with the life force of the vehicle. Black and shiny, the girl was in awe of the beauty of something so fundamentally awful. The girl had never realized the importance of the ugly things, the reason for the base ingredients of life.
The sound of metal grinding on metal filled the air, while a oily glaze of sweat doused my forehead and prickled against the skin of the rest of my body. The hammer felt good under my calloused, blistered fingers. A sense of purpose with each swing, a priorital need for responsibility.
humans are made
of grease and water
two substances
allergic to the other
you are literally
an impossibility
won’t you tell that to
the nearest mountain
Like oil does to fire, she fueld his anger easily enough for him to erupt like a raging flame. And like these fires, it was uneasy to put his anger out.
Oil of Olay was my grandmother’s favorite brand of nighttime cream. The faint smell of it always lingered on her skin, even after she died.
Oil was spilling out the bottom of the car; she had no idea what to do. She scanned the traffic hopefully, looking for someone who looked like they might be able to help, if she could pluck up the courage to help. That’s when she saw him walking towards here, he didn’t look like the type that would know how to help her but she tried to keep her mind open. The expensive silk tie, freshly ironed crisp shirt and shiny black shoes didn’t fill her with confidence either; he grinned as he approached
‘Hi. I’m Oliver – you look like you could use a hand’
She looked at the recipe book again, just to make sure she got the measurements right. “One teaspoon of oil, one quarter cup of salamander juice, one eyeball of lizard,” she murmured, and stirred the pot a couple of times again.
He gargled the oil–and then swallowed the oil–and then told me that it would help loosen up his bones. I stood in wonder, in fascination, looking at this man, trying to figure out how I could get him an application for the circus.
What oil shall I use? olive oil, corn oil, sesame seed oil, grape seed oil, vegetable oil but maybe not castor oil….
it made me fall off my bike! how could you do that to me, oil?!? I thought we were freinds?
(at least my tummy is freinds with you!)
The spill of the sentry happened yesterday and all I could do was to stand there in awe full awe watching as the oil infested waters were slowly killing the wildlife. it was horrible.
He tossed the noodles into the vegetables and pork, then drizzled sesame oil over the final dish.
“Just like your mama used to make?” she asked.
He chuckled. “I don’t think my mom even knew sesame seeds could be oil,” he replied.
The oil spill in the south pacific has destroyed much of the ocean and the animals in the ocean. (not sure if it is real, don’t think so)
I’m slipping across the kitchen floor
this dark, slick substance was not here before.
Why can’t I reach the counter top?
I’m sliding down- help, I can’t stop.
My legs give way underneath my waist
Down to the floor, into the substance goes my face
Rolling over to study this liquid’s nature,
I realize something terrible about the color.
My eyes widen in horror at the scarlet red
This haunting puddle was spewing out from my head.
We cook with it because it’s healthier and try to eradicate it when it comes out of our skin. Some of us drill for it, some of us debate about it. You saute a green pepper in extra virgin like the lady on TV said and think of your nephew in Iraq.
this is stuck, give me some of that oil over there. when was the last time you used this confounded thing? looks rustier than my knees. here, hold this wrench for a sec while i drench this sucker. damn that is stuck…
In the early part of the 20th century there were many looking for the next big oil field – what is known today as the Middle East. But something blocked their way, something called World War I.
The food was elaborately prepared: a tiny morsel laid out on a huge plate like a baby in a full-size coffin, all surrounded with a lace of baby greens and slicked with a dab of truffle oil.
It is true that I like to give massages. Maybe it’s because I know I’m good with my hands and my fingers are fairly dextrous. Maybe it’s because I like mixing oils, either cold pressed or those that go solid at room temperature only to melt once they touch a body. Sometimes there is a hint of lemon or lavender, maybe cinnamon or bergamot or almond or peppermint. Maybe it’s because I know how bones are connected and how nerves can turn muscles into knots. Maybe there is a certain joy in starting from the top and working my way down, feeling how these ministrations do their work the further I progress. Maybe it’s all those things infused into the tips of fingers spreading out like wings, circling, deepening the pressure, lightening up, stroking softly, around and around and around, rhythmically, methodically, repetitiously, till I’m almost as at peace as the one who’s being kneaded into bliss. Maybe there are times when it is better to give than to receive.
Elijah is cunning in the sense that he is able to step quietly away from a conversation and not expect anyone to stop him in return. He slips out of grasps and tangles with his words, easing back like any slick, well-defined politician would. He separates himself from the rest of the pool the minute something tangible and threatening shows itself- Elijah is good at slipping away.
“It’s not running, not even that.” He explains once to Meredith when they are alone again, confined to shadows and four walls hidden from view. Never does he find himself prompt to explain his actions to Meredith, but when he does he says it with a smile that seems to form involuntarily on his lips. “I know exactly what I’m doing, Meredith. We’ll be safe.”
And does Meredith ever know. He can tell the moment Elijah shifts a foot and he’s already a step behind him. He can see the change in tone in which Elijah brings a conversation to a halt and leaves one stumped, stupefied. Meredith is very thankful for the times Elijah has pulled him and himself from the imminence of attachment, especially regarding those they don’t know and will never know again.
But what Elijah doesn’t know, is that Meredith also hopes. Hopes he won’t just as easily, and just as silently, slip from his fingers.
The oily substance was sticky on her hands, and as she lifted them up, trying to shake the goop off, it stuck. Kestrel cried out, terrified, as oil began to slick up her arms, and she stared at Pascal in horror as it all happened to her.
“Please,” she begged. “Please, no…”
“This is what you get for taking what doesn’t belong to you,” snapped Pascal.
Then the oil consumed her.
i dont like oii, it makes me looks really simple . well this is not how i want to look, i want to look bold, always. may be it is a mask for me, since i am just not as bold as i think i should be.
It is black in color, and thick and has a strong odor. However, it is the most important find in the twentieth century. I am referring the oil, the spirit of of the modern world.
A film lies comfortably
Atop an ocean.
The Sun is on holiday.
Permanent night – but
No stars.
In the darkness, A
Garbage blanket strewn over
A body.
The ocean now lies in the morgue.
is iridescent, a slick of brown, purple, blue, green, shimmery. It’s slippery and I take care to avoid stepping in it while walking in parking lots. Can’t live without it, like a poison that makes the world go around, lines the pockets of some, chokes the lungs of others. We’re slaves to it.
After my grandma’s been cooking in the kitchen, the floor is always slippery with oil. You could skate in socks. “How much did you use?” mom would ask, concerned. “A bit of oil brings out the fragrance in the vegetables,” she said, “just like in life.” They had different definitions of what constituted “a bit.”
it’s been so long since she’s seen the sky that the only rainbows she can recall are those that sparkle poisonously from the oil stains on the floor of her stone prison.
She sighed as she walked across the nearly toxic beach, whose water has now turned pitch-black in colour.
“This isn’t fair,” she muttered.
Slick and black.
It reminds me of your soul:
historical, like a fossil
just fueling the present
and forgetting the consequences
HPower
Ducks
Pollution
Politics
Resources
Scarcity
Extinction
Sickness
Money
Energy
Innovation
Conservation
Tradition
Grease
The water shone black with the ship’s spilled cargo. Oil, blanketing the slate sea in a sticky, iridescent shroud.
One spark was all it took.
I’m 24 and I cannot reconcile the fact that for me to have a comfortable life, someone else must suffer.
The bigger pictures is that oil must continue to flow for the greater good, while groups of people have their ways of life destroyed as a direct result of it.
Debates on the subject often result in the statement “well oil is used for so many things, we can’t just give it up.” That’s a very similar argument to what an alcoholic would say about his/her alcohol.
Oil doesn’t mix with water. I learned that my first day in chemistry. A single drop of soap into the oil and water was enough to separate them.
A single drop of soap isn’t enough. The oil coats the water, turning it into a dirty, fowl, black.
we’re oil and water, we will never combine
two polar opposites; you will never be mine.
you’re the water I thirst for, my lips lonely and dry
I am the oil you wash off without the slightest goodbye.
Patterson had made a monumental bet on the price of oil. With weapons piling into Syria he knew it was only a matter of time before the Middle East capitulated into disorderly meltdown. With the gulf in chaos he would be in the money. But he only had three months.
I had crafted a tool for you,
and I use it, and use it — still.
My mind wandered away,
but I’d not gone astray,
when I climbed all the way down the hill.
Vegetable oil is the best replacement for butter when cooking. Many people try very hard to lose weight but butter is so essential to cooking in our society.