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  #61  
Old 03-01-2014, 02:32
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F Spider F Spider is offline
Spyker Owner #207 (former owner #107)
 
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Location: New York, Amsterdam
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? Spyker uitlaatring - Overige Auto-onderdelen - Marktplaats.nl

I don't think this is an exhaust tip, but the top of the Spyker wine cooler
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  #62  
Old 25-05-2014, 08:47
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amzamz amzamz is offline
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... parts for motorbikes (?) made in Thailand. (source)
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  #63  
Old 23-07-2014, 05:03
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amzamz amzamz is offline
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... that could even be official? Not sure. A Spyker for everyone! (source)
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  #64  
Old 23-01-2015, 05:45
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amzamz amzamz is offline
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... what is this? (source)
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  #65  
Old 23-01-2015, 14:31
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F Spider F Spider is offline
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Quote:
Originally Posted by amzamz View Post
... that could even be official? Not sure. A Spyker for everyone!
Yes, it's real. I once saw one in Victor's office.
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  #66  
Old 17-02-2015, 07:54
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amzamz amzamz is offline
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... isn't it annoying that someone systematically abuses Spyker's favourite colour?
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Last edited by amzamz; 17-02-2015 at 08:01.
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  #67  
Old 17-02-2015, 08:36
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Scott Triplitt Scott Triplitt is offline
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Join Date: Nov 2013
Location: California
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Quote:
Originally Posted by amzamz View Post
... isn't it annoying that someone systematically abuses Spyker's favourite colour?
God bless those souls, their families, and all those who have had to suffer through the ubiquitous evil of a few.

Never did I think we would witness the tragedies we've seen in recent years. Please excuse the dark nature of this piece. I wrote it after the Boston Marathon bombings. Sometimes I find it necessary to express that which too often remains silent.

Lost World

I walk down halls of darkness
In a world of empty lives

I walk down paths of helplessness
In a world of endless lies

I talk to those who do not listen
In a world they try to reign

I talk to those who are forgotten
In a world they cannot change

I’ll collect souls for cleansing
In a world of deep despair
I’ll collect souls for mending
In a world of endless dare

I see evil thriving
In a world lost in tears

I see justice dying
In a world locked in fear

I hear sinful laughter
In a world of dreadful fools

I hear unanswered prayers
In a world of rancid gruel

I’ll collect souls for cleansing
In a world of deep despair
I’ll collect souls for mending
In a world of endless dare

I know not when it will end
It’s too hard to tell

I know not how it will end
It’s a living Hell
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Last edited by Scott Triplitt; 17-02-2015 at 10:05.
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  #68  
Old 17-02-2015, 13:31
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amzamz amzamz is offline
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Scott, you are a poet!!!
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  #69  
Old 17-02-2015, 13:35
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F Spider F Spider is offline
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The cruelty is something from all ages. Even worse from what we are seeing now. The big difference is that it is not only that the information is now broadly available, but especially that it has become visual.

On the internet, you would try not to feed the troll. Would that be possible with IS?
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  #70  
Old 17-02-2015, 21:02
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Scott Triplitt Scott Triplitt is offline
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Quote:
Originally Posted by amzamz View Post
Scott, you are a poet!!!
Hi AMZAMZ,

You are very kind, but I consider all my attempts as "pieces of work", if you know what I mean!

Below, on a much lighter note than the previous posting, is a piece I wrote describing the Eagles’ journey through the southwestern deserts of the US to the Troubadour in LA. In keeping with the lyrics in “Hotel California”, the words are strange in their own way.

The reference to the mynah bird takes me back to when I was 5 years old and my father was driving our family on vacation through the deserts of the southwest. We always traveled at night because we didn’t have any air conditioning. One night we stopped at a gas station that was out in the middle of nowhere. There were millions of stars and my father and I went inside to pay for the gas. There was an old lady with long black hair in a smoke filled room. There next to her, adjacent to the cash register, was a mynah bird. It kept saying very strange things and the fact that I had never heard a bird talk made it seem even stranger. The reference to the Troubadour, which was owned by Doug Weston, is where the Eagles and many new artists in the 60's got their start here in LA. In any event, here is another "piece of work":

Journey to the Troubadour

No lights on the horizon, hot desert air
Crossing this land, without a care
We exit the highway, just north of nowhere
To the right is eternity, to the left is despair

The journey’s been long, and much to our dismay
We’ve been working for years, for so little pay
Our lives are empty, like the words in this song
We're just trying to survive, as we move along

The lady was tall, with long black hair
Her face was grey, from the smoke in the air
Her mynah bird sat screeching, strange words in the night
“White spots on my wings, yellow wattle for hair”
“What will happen to me, when I fly through the air?”
She said this was common, to hear such a rage
She said the bird was blind and couldn’t fly anyway
We paid for our gas, and were on our way
300 miles to go, and we’d be in LA

The journey’s been long, and much to our dismay
We’ve been working for years, for so little pay
Our lives are empty, like the words in this song
We're just trying to survive, as we move along

We sped down the highway, found a place to stay
The owner smelled of whisky and showed us the way
The casitas were dusty, the linens were bare
He said not to worry, the maid would be there
An old lady came and cleaned up the room
We asked for clean sheets and she said, “It’s too soon,
Besides, they’re only changed in every other room”
She said she had friends and we could party all night
We told her, “No thanks” we’d be all right

The journey’s been long, and much to our dismay
We’ve been working for years, for so little pay
Our lives are empty, like the words in this song
We're just trying to survive, as we move along

After sleeping for a three hours, we got back on the road
Avoiding the desert heat, that we’d come to know
The bright lights of LA appeared through the haze
This time we knew, we were on our way
Doug had made us an offer, so we decided to go
The long trip would be worth it, or so we were told
The West Hollywood traffic was moving along well,
The bright lights on Santa Monica Blvd, casting their spell
We pulled up to where many had been before, we were finally at the Troubadour
Doug greeted us at the door and said with a smile, “Come on in, and play for a while”

The journey’s been long, and with all certainty
We know we took the right turn to eternity
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Last edited by Scott Triplitt; 18-02-2015 at 03:40.
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