Sentences with phrase «regroup under»

Ole Miss - which lost on its senior night - looks like a team that's ready for the season to be over and then regroup under a new coach.

Not exact matches

And as i said, the protest needs to regroup, rethink, and reform under solid leadership... one movement, one voice, more strength!

9 am to 7 pm work days have caused this to happen frequently enough that I am no longer fazed by having to cook the majority of my meal during the first half hour that my guests have arrived, and can usually manage to let go of the over-priced arugala, regroup, and execute under their watchful eyes and growling stomachs.

The club will do well to regroup and find there way out of this mess but I am sure that all fans around the country will be hoping that they don't go under.

As for West Brom's relegation to the Championship, Kilbane says they simply have to regroup and give it everything they have, «West Brom need to draw a line under it now and look to next season and getting some confidence back in the side.»

The suspects who are indigenes of Maiduguri, Borno State, had fled the military action in Borno State and were regrouping in the State under different trade covers.

Under the fiscal 2011 proposal unveiled last week, a roster of 38 relatively small, targeted grant programs would be regrouped into broader, more flexible funding streams — many of them competitive — aimed at furthering the administration's education redesign goals.

Under new ownership by Nissan Motor, Mitsubishi is regrouping for 2018.

, you are lying on the floor of your place looking up, a small draft runs through the room, between the door and the window, and all things seem perfectly still, wind only disturbs concrete in imperceptible ways, or it may take millions of years to be noticed and, as the air runs through the space, all your plants move and all is animated and all is alive somehow, and here are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, and that wind upon your plants is the common air that bathes the globe, and we have no ambitions of universalism, and I'm glad we don't, but the particles of air bring traces of pollen and are charged with electricity, desert sand, maybe sea water, and these particles were somewhere else before they were dragged here, and their route will not end by the door of this house, and if we tell each other stories, one can imagine that they might have been bathed by this same air, regrouped and recombined, recharged as a vehicle for sound, swirling as it moves, bringing the sound of a drum, like that Kabuki story where a fox recognizes the voice of its parents as a girl plays a drum made out of their skin, or any other event, and yet I always felt your work never tells stories, I tend to think that narrative implies a past tense, even if that past was just five seconds ago, one second ago was already the past, and human memory is irrelevant in geological time, plants and fish know not what tomorrow will bring, neither rocks nor metal do, but we all live here now, and we all need visions and we all need dreams, and as long as your metal sculptures vibrate they are always in the Present, and their past is a material truth alien to narrative, but well, maybe narrative does not imply a past tense at all and they are writing their own story while they gently move and breathe, and maybe nothing was really still before the wind came in, passing through the window as if through an irrational portal to make those plants dance, but everything was already moving and breathing in near complete silence, and if you're focused enough you can feel the pulse of a concrete wall and you can feel the tectonic movements of the earth, and you can hear the magma flowing under our feet and our bones crackling like a wild fire, and you can see the light of fireflies reflected in polished metal, and there is nothing magical about that, it is just the way things are, and sometimes we have to raise our voice because the music is too loud and let your clothes move to a powerful bass, sound waves and bright lights, powerful like the sun, blinding us if we stare for too long, but isn't it the biggest sign of love, like singing to a corn field, and all acts of kindness that are not pitiful nor utilitarian, that are truly horizontal as everything around us is impregnated with the deadliest violence, vertical and systemic, poisonous, and sometimes you just want to feel the sun burning your skin and look for life in all things declared dead, a kind of vitality that operates like corrosion, strong as the wind near the sea, transforming all things,