Torrent Hockey Mind Chaos

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Torrent Hockey Mind Chaos

With a tremendous buzz that started offside in the UK, Portland, Oregon's Hockey are set to drop the puck in North America with the release of their debut album `Mind Chaos'. `Mind Chaos' is a remarkably cohesive debut, marked by their ingenious, assured song-craft typified by their new-wave-dancerock- flavoured sound.Track Listing:1.Too Fake2.3am Spanish3.Learn Too Lose4.Work5.Song Away6.Curse This City7.Wanna Be Black8.Four Holy Photo’s9.Preacher10.Put The Game Down11.Everyone’s The Same AgeUpon payment, your purchase is dispatched the same or next business day.

We offer courier to P O Boxes.Please read the for this listing.

My poems remain explorations of the subconscious.If i where a film maker or a novelist you would see me telling a story, not judge me, although i admit to my paraphiliasThese poems are lunar anamorphic streams of consciousness from the deep chaotic subterranean glitz of transgressive impulses we all shareRead them if you dare.You might find that part of yourself that you don't want you to know about and then again you may feel more complete some how if you do.I always loved that dark thing that sleeps with in me. Harmless showery harmingDrove of peddling mongers.Harmless harming torrentHarming horde of hucksters.Humming a melody of ventingdistraction.Pouring brimful harmless rainlike glacier racing across thecliff of rocks.Shutting doors of coop out ofthe sphere of ataraxis.Watching helplessly from therefuge of dislocation forreceding arms of atyrannical torrent.But spitting fire produced novenom of fire.Heralding floods of occupationColonising footway of the bloc.Emissaries of fertility from thesky hoarding tranquillity.Marking time out of attention.Rain no more! A is forAnArcher withAnArrow through hisAdamsApple, veryApplicable, to theAmpleAmounts ofAmiableAttitude,Adorning his heart, inAfterActionAttributes, that impart, theAdmiration, of., in thisActing out ofArrogance bit. He is,Astute, in hisAllure, andAloof, in theAir, ofAspiration, in which, he wasAlienated in theAgony, ofAskingAssassins, theAforementioned. Lights, camera,Action. Recipe of theAncientAdmirals ofAvianAliens, thatAttacked, with theArms and fists, ofArachnids, nowAching to beActivated in suddenAllegiance to theAnswers, of the truth.Accumulating wealth forAnarchy's ofAbatingAngels inAtrophied,AlchemicalAcademies of the everAfter life. Of silence.

strengthens in theseAccolades of violence, inAlliance toAppliancesAppearing in theArson ofApathy, happily, toAnguish in theAmputation of myAbdomen, if it meant i'm a realAmerican, even, when, onlyAsh, remains.Acclimating in its remainsAttained, theArticles of my pain, inAffluent shame, next time.Aim. Later at the same addressA storm of words reaches flood stageA couch is bobbing in the currentstowards its mangled ruin-nexusof matchsticks in cyclonic flowamong the renegadetrashhangingfrom the limbs like tinselMeanwhilechair heaved through her doorLike the riverI am not above my rageat this stageof more than enough.Clever daughter's got my goatTurns my words on dimesLays into meher score of blameEach blow to drop me furtherpresses all my buttons at one timedespite the flashingWarning! Fine!”She blows-out through the afternoonright past mein a torrent of cursesA stubborn perfect stormof wordshas taken out parental damand blown out toward the Bay of Freedomto the sorrows of her dayThe river may crack its whipBut its got nothing on hernothing is left standingin her way. If I seem surprised,it's because I'm still alive.My search for eternal sleepended with a nap.You didn't see because I didn't let you,but you were never one to want to help.You sent me on my oh so merry way.Why didn't you know I was that far gone?Though I don't blame you for damningme. The river flowed too strong inside,it was up to me to dam myself.

Toobad I dove into the raging torrent ofBaltic tea, yack and Judas. I have noneed of temporary sleep.

I only havefreezing sweats and waking dreamsthat make me picture you and knowI need to seek another push and pulluntil I'm blind to what you were to me.If I freeze my insides the river will stopflowing so violently and for once I maybe able to take a breath and dreamwithout a bottle and pictures of you.I'll lie by the bank and smile at howcalm it has become since I threw in the ring.I don't blame you for damning me, andI don't blame you for keeping turned.I only blame me for not daming myselfwhen I had the chances back then.Let loose the river; I'll happily swim the rapidswithout preserver. There isn't much left tokeep afloat. Not that I need to die this time,but I can't say I'd resist without you. Swimming through the river of forgetfulness,But my mind clings to my memoriesThe water ebbs and caresses my bodyLulls me to let goBut as I try my soul strugglesA soft pulling eases me awayIn the shadows I lay,Something I was nudging atLet lose to pillage my mindI don't want to let goI want to remain what I used to beNot much, but still a personStill meSlowly time wins, my grip fails to hold onMy soul fadesI wanderI lose my way in the thick smokeAnd I forget,I reach land and pull my body from,The Torrent Of forgetfulness. Vitriolic hydraulic pushPull of sorghumSticking sweetly in my veinsMolar studded oatmeal cookiesCrunching like a bad dreamDull rhinestone eyesLosing more and more shine every daySluggish swole-bellied synapsesFiring in my brainAnd I'm crying oversized tearsDrowning like Alice in WonderlandI know you couldn't bear to breathe my airOr share our bedOr eat my cookingBut'Did you know the capital of Uzbekistan is Tashkent?' No.Did you know I keep Austin up every nightBegging for your scraps?Hedoesn'tlovemehedoesn'tlovemehedoesn'tlovemeandIdon'tun­derstandwhatIdidwronghedoesn'tlovemeAustinmyheartisgoneI can still smell youOn my sunday dressesAnd I'm afraid of the washing machineAnd dryer sheetsAfraid of what they'll take from meI had religionI had faith in youAnd I can still taste the bodyOf Jesus ChristJesus Christ!All nightNot like I lost anything important right?WellI'll probably never see you againBut my daddy's got a shotgunJust in case.

He slept and I loved it,He dreamt and I coveted not,Having dreamt many dreams,Spared of sleepless nights,His sleep was my happiness,His dreams my requite,His hands in my hair,Fingers long and strong,The air in his lungs,His chest so wide and proud,Twice I said to him:Look up love it's the starsTwice he said to me:No you are my starThough I've dreamt and slept to my hearts content,It's his dreaming, his sleeping,That murders my weeping,The gentle close of his eyes and his gracefully wandering mind,That sends a torrent of peace through my chest. The first poem takes place during the lifetime of Lord Buddha.The second poem follows in the years soon after Lord Buddha left his body.The third poem is the mind of the boy (the spirit of the boy in the first poem) in restless meditation. He has yet to attain full enlightenment. There are multiple voices suggested by parentheses and which are whispered words.

If you prefer linear thought or literal interpretation this poem may not communicate to you. Just as a painting may be abstract, this poem is wide open to your own connections, thoughts and emotions. If you like, you can skip to the fourth poem.The fourth poem, in three lines, lies within this portion of eternity that is forever present time.Boy runner (the first poem)'Approaching Siddhartha where he sat aboy examined him politely (this-that?)Siddhartha spoke and there the unnamed boywho sitting a while with him that day thoughtand over the days ahead returned andleaving only for food, drink and servicethat Siddhartha would not be distractedfrom his goal until upon returninghe saw him glowing in the morning lightand so began to dance with him beneaththe tree.

Hockey Mind Chaos Wiki

A leaf was shed, was gathered thenand the boy, who while tucking it away,Siddhartha asked if he would run for himto village, crossroads, field, grove, whereverSiddhartha wished to speak. And so he ran,and soon arriving, announcing thus hiscoming, holding high the leaf he carriedand which had never died, living— livinggreen until Lord Buddha left his body.Depths of Green (the second poem)'Depths of green—from canopy to forest floorIn streams of raucous livingnessAnd there, and where about, a sanctuaryFalls in heaps, in stone walls run aground.And with, nearby, afar, by ins and outsThrough every place (perceived)Wherever listened for—vibration.A single voice in Pali—a single voiceLeaping, leading, dancing, sweeping.Hello. It was a cold dark nightSailing for Hopes for DreamsAn Island beyond the seaA home of victoryA home that willNow never be yoursFlashes of lightIn the torrent of the seaFather and childHeld on tightStruggled for their dreamBefore my eyesI saw their dream dieIn the cold black pit of the seaI want to sayI am SorryI am SorryTo all voyagersOf despair and courageTheir lost Hopes and DreamsCrossing toAn Island beyond the sea.To the Hundreds of Souls lost on the journey to Lampedusa. Life moving fastLike storm cell rainWashing, runningTorrent and quicklyThrough the drains.Some daze,In this cold and constant placeI wish I were a folded paper boatTipping, curving crests, afloatAnd chasing the streamDownwind.Away and washing cleanA waxed vesselEscapedPouring throughConcrete flooring.I would steer for the seaOn waves awash withUrban weedsDetritus sweeping acrossThe deckOf my paper boat builtFor one.I would runWith the waterA creased and soggy meAll folded and falling apartAt the seams. Now when they came to the ford of the full-flowing river Xanthus,begotten of immortal Jove, Achilles cut their forces in two: onehalf he chased over the plain towards the city by the same way thatthe Achaeans had taken when flying panic-stricken on the preceding daywith Hector in full triumph; this way did they fly pell-mell, and Junosent down a thick mist in front of them to stay them. The other halfwere hemmed in by the deep silver-eddying stream, and fell into itwith a great uproar.

The waters resounded, and the banks rang again,as they swam hither and thither with loud cries amid the whirlingeddies. As locusts flying to a river before the blast of a grass fire-the flame comes on and on till at last it overtakes them and theyhuddle into the water—even so was the eddying stream of Xanthusfilled with the uproar of men and horses, all struggling inconfusion before Achilles.Forthwith the hero left his spear upon the bank, leaning itagainst a tamarisk bush, and plunged into the river like a god,armed with his sword only. Fell was his purpose as he hewed theTrojans down on every side. Their dying groans rose hideous as thesword smote them, and the river ran red with blood.

As when fish flyscared before a huge dolphin, and fill every nook and corner of somefair haven—for he is sure to eat all he can catch—even so did theTrojans cower under the banks of the mighty river, and whenAchilles’ arms grew weary with killing them, he drew twelve youthsalive out of the water, to sacrifice in revenge for Patroclus son ofMenoetius. He drew them out like dazed fawns, bound their hands behindthem with the girdles of their own shirts, and gave them over to hismen to take back to the ships.

Then he sprang into the river,thirsting for still further blood.There he found Lycaon, son of Priam seed of Dardanus, as he wasescaping out of the water; he it was whom he had once taken prisonerwhen he was in his father’s vineyard, having set upon him by night, ashe was cutting young shoots from a wild fig-tree to make the wickersides of a chariot. Achilles then caught him to his sorrow unawares,and sent him by sea to Lemnos, where the son of Jason bought him.But a guest-friend, Eetion of Imbros, freed him with a great sum,and sent him to Arisbe, whence he had escaped and returned to hisfather’s house. He had spent eleven days happily with his friendsafter he had come from Lemnos, but on the twelfth heaven againdelivered him into the hands of Achilles, who was to send him to thehouse of Hades sorely against his will. He was unarmed when Achillescaught sight of him, and had neither helmet nor shield; nor yet had heany spear, for he had thrown all his armour from him on to the bank,and was sweating with his struggles to get out of the river, so thathis strength was now failing him.Then Achilles said to himself in his surprise, “What marvel do I seehere?

If this man can come back alive after having been sold over intoLemnos, I shall have the Trojans also whom I have slain rising fromthe world below. Could not even the waters of the grey sea imprisonhim, as they do many another whether he will or no? This time lethim. spear, that I may know for certain whether mother earthwho can keep even a strong man down, will be able to hold him, orwhether thence too he will return.”Thus did he pause and ponder. But Lycaon came up to him dazed andtrying hard to embrace his knees, for he would fain live, not die.Achilles. at him with his spear, meaning to.

him, but Lycaonran crouching up to him and caught his knees, whereby the spear passedover his back, and stuck in the ground, hungering though it was forblood. With one hand he caught Achilles’ knees as he besought him, andwith the other he clutched the spear and would not let it go. Thenhe said, “Achilles, have mercy upon me and spare me, for I am yoursuppliant. It was in your tents that I first broke bread on the daywhen you took me prisoner in the vineyard; after which you sold awayto Lemnos far from my father and my friends, and I brought you theprice of a hundred oxen. I have paid three times as much to gain myfreedom; it is but twelve days that I have come to Ilius after muchsuffering, and now cruel fate has again thrown me into your hands.Surely father Jove must hate me, that he has given me over to you asecond time. Short of life indeed did my mother Laothoe bear me,daughter of aged Altes—of Altes who reigns over the warlike Lelegaeand holds steep Pedasus on the river Satnioeis. Priam married hisdaughter along with many other women and two sons were born of her,both of whom you will have slain.

Your spear slew noble Polydorus ashe was fighting in the front ranks, and now evil will here befallme, for I fear that I shall not escape you since heaven has deliveredme over to you. Furthermore I say, and lay my saying to your heart,spare me, for I am not of the same womb as Hector who slew yourbrave and noble comrade.”With such words did the princely son of Priam beseech Achilles;but Achilles answered him sternly. “Idiot,” said he, “talk not to meof ransom. Until Patroclus fell I preferred to give the Trojansquarter, and sold beyond the sea many of those whom I had taken alive;but now not a man shall live of those whom heaven delivers into myhands before the city of Ilius—and of all Trojans it shall farehardest with the sons of Priam. Therefore, my friend, you too shalldie.

Why should you whine in this way? Patroclus fell, and he was abetter man than you are. I too—see you not how I am great and goodly?I am son to a noble father, and have a goddess for my mother, butthe hands of doom and death overshadow me all as surely. The daywill come, either at dawn or dark, or at the noontide, when oneshall take my life also in battle, either with his spear, or with anarrow sped from his bow.”Thus did he speak, and Lycaon’s heart sank within him.

He loosed hishold of the spear, and held out both hands before him; but Achillesdrew his keen blade, and struck him by the collar-bone on his neck; heplunged his two-edged sword into him to the very hilt, whereon helay at full length on the ground, with the dark blood welling from himtill the earth was soaked. Then Achilles caught him by the foot andflung him into the river to go down stream, vaunting over him thewhile, and saying, “Lie there among the fishes, who will lick theblood from your wound and gloat over it; your mother shall not lay youon any bier to mourn you, but the eddies of Scamander shall bear youinto the broad.

of the sea. There shall the fishes feed on thefat of Lycaon as they dart under the dark ripple of the waters—soperish all of you till we reach the citadel of strong Ilius—you inflight, and I following after to destroy you. The river with its broadsilver stream shall serve you in no stead, for all the bulls youoffered him and all the horses that you flung living into hiswaters. None the less miserably shall you perish till there is not aman of you but has paid in full for the death of Patroclus and thehavoc you wrought among the Achaeans whom you have slain while Iheld aloof from battle.”So spoke Achilles, but the river grew more and more angry, andpondered within himself how he should stay the hand of Achilles andsave the Trojans from disaster. Meanwhile the son of Peleus, spearin hand, sprang upon Asteropaeus son of Pelegon to. him.

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He wasson to the broad river Axius and Periboea eldest daughter ofAcessamenus; for the river had lain with her. Asteropaeus stood up outof the water to face him with a spear in either hand, and Xanthusfilled him with courage, being angry for the death of the youthswhom Achilles was slaying ruthlessly within his waters.

When they wereclose up with one another Achilles was first to speak. “Who and whenceare you,” said he, “who dare to face me? Woe to the parents whoseson stands up against me.” And the son of Pelegon answered, “Great sonof Peleus, why should you ask my lineage. I am from the fertile landof far Paeonia, captain of the Paeonians, and it is now eleven daysthat I am at Ilius. I am of the blood of the river Axius—of Axiusthat is the fairest of all rivers that run. He begot the famed warriorPelegon, whose son men call me.

Let us now fight, Achilles.”Thus did he defy him, and Achilles raised his spear of Pelian ash.Asteropaeus failed with both his spears, for he could use both handsalike; with the one spear he struck Achilles’ shield, but did notpierce it, for the layer of gold, gift of the god, stayed the point;with the other spear he grazed the elbow of Achilles! Right armdrawing dark blood, but the spear itself went by him and fixeditself in the ground, foiled of its. banquet. Then Achilles,fain to. him, hurled his spear at Asteropaeus, but failed to hithim and struck the steep bank of the river, driving the spear half itslength into the earth. The son of Peleus then drew his sword andsprang furiously upon him.

Asteropaeus vainly tried to drawAchilles’ spear out of the bank by main force; thrice did he tug atit, trying with all his might to draw it out, and thrice he had toleave off trying; the fourth time he tried to bend and break it, butere he could do so Achilles smote him with his sword and killed him.He struck him in the belly near the navel, so that all his bowels camegushing out on to the ground, and the darkness of death came overhim as he lay gasping. Then Achilles set his foot on his chest andspoiled him of his armour, vaunting over him and saying, “Lie there-begotten of a river though you be, it is hard for you to strive withthe offspring of Saturn’s son. You declare yourself sprung from theblood of a broad river, but I am of the seed of mighty Jove.

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My fatheris Peleus, son of Aeacus ruler over the many Myrmidons, and Aeacus wasthe son of Jove. Therefore as Jove is mightier than any river thatflows into the sea, so are his children stronger than those of anyriver whatsoever. By Alfred Noyes 1880—1958.PART ONEThe wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,And the highwayman came riding—Riding—riding—The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin.They fitted with never a wrinkle.

His boots were up to the thigh.And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,His pistol butts a-twinkle,His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard.He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred.He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting thereBut the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,Bess, the landlord’s daughter,Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creakedWhere Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked.His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,But he loved the landlord’s daughter,The landlord’s red-lipped daughter.Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night,But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,Then look for me by moonlight,Watch for me by moonlight,I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand,But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brandAs the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,(O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.PART TWOHe did not come in the dawning. He did not come at noon;And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon, looping the purple moor,A red-coat troop came marching—Marching—marching—King George’s men came marching, up to the old inn-door.They said no word to the landlord. They drank his ale instead.But they gagged his daughter, and bound her, to the foot of her narrow bed.Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!There was death at every window;And hell at one dark window;For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest.They had bound a musket beside her, with the muzzle beneath her breast!“Now, keep good watch!” and they kissed her.

She heard the doomed man say—Look for me by moonlight;Watch for me by moonlight;I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like yearsTill, now, on the stroke of midnight,Cold, on the stroke of midnight,The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the rest.Up, she stood up to attention, with the muzzle beneath her breast.She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;For the road lay bare in the moonlight;Blank and bare in the moonlight;And the blood of her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love’s refrain.Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horsehoofs ringing clear;Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in the distance?

Were they deaf that they did not hear?Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,The highwayman came riding—Riding—riding—The red coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still.Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!Nearer he came and nearer. Her face was like a light.Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,Then her finger moved in the moonlight,Her musket shattered the moonlight,Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.He turned.

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