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What is Hockey, members, but great, arcing swaths of poetry on ice? And what is Poetry without the explicit acknowledgement of language as a cipher of, mirror to, and weapon of that within our subconscious that wants to kill the cattle of Helios, regardless of the known Zeusian consquences? Well this week members, if you find yourself on a bit of an odyssey, best to to turn the dial to subliminate and remember the words of Oliver Wendall Holmes: Rough work, iconoclasm - but the only way to get at truth.
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