The salt mountain, in the big shed by the M62 at Ferrybridge is heaving, as rock and table salt gleam in the moonlight. The seasonal werewolf of winters discontent - the consumer of the under-body and silver veins of fluid induced to flakes of brown red.
Degeneration of the great and good, the sustaining body.Time flows convincingly in linear flow - as stardust briefly forms flakes of red ochre.
The decay, as rancid as the rotting crocodile - in the mangrove swamp of far away. Out of sight and out of mind, in the tea party of polishing the upper paint.
The roof and bonnet, the doors and wings. The pearls of passion in the search of shells for the one true gleam - the sheen of polish on polish and exotic wax. The counterpoint of the final layer - bridging the sun and moon with a shine of pure opulence - and the everlasting honour of application on gilded cloths.
The rotted crocodile down below - the underbody. teeth agape in the putrefaction of neglect - oozing and encrusted in the pipes and frames. The skeleton leaching salt and losing fluid from pipes once pristine and silver.
Oh, for a touch of Castrol LM waterproof grease and a brush...
Edited by oilrag on 07/10/2009 at 19:59
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Castrol LM and a brush are what I use to stop squirrels climbing my bird feeder. They hate getting their fur greasy!
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It's a full moon. He'll be right as rain in a day or two. :-)
JH
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I'll have a pint of whatever Oilrag is drinking ...
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I'll have a pint of whatever Oilrag is drinking ...
>>
Castrol LM...
Excellent prose
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>> I'll have a pint of whatever Oilrag is drinking ... >> Castrol LM...
Mulled of course ;0)
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That is actually VERY good my friend.
MD
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Always said you were a poet oilrag. My verses rhyme and scan, but they are just verses.
If I didn't approve of you I might be jealous. As it is I am merely anxious about the underside of my car, lacking as I do your manic energy and buckets of appropriate greases. Today's rain has done nothing but good. But the glittering brown rocks of pink mineral salt will soon be making the roads slippery and turning the body pressings into simulacra of the last illegally-hunted gator flats rotting in the outhouse of a Florida swamp shack.
Chapeau!
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If you don't get on and write that book Oily i'll go to the foot of our stairs....enjoyable thoughtful and eloquent, thankyou.
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Opening line would have to be....."Call me Oilrag" ..........with a nod to Herman Melville. Title....... "Moly Slip"
Edited by Humph Backbridge on 07/10/2009 at 21:27
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Oily's booksigning day sounds like a good BR meet too, get a move on man.
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Oily's booksigning day sounds like a good BR meet too get a move on man.
Any book Oilrag has handled will be like a secondhand car manual - you can see the history of jobs done by the oily thumbprints.
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Only 28 hrs now to the last essay submissions. ;-)
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I am not that good at writing although I can drum up the odd grumpy letter when required! I am sorry the deadline for this excellent competition was set so short. The Booker prize entrants have a minimum of a year!
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