It began as the GODFATHER OF MATH, evolved into the GOODFATHER OF MATH. Now this. Go figure...

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The kind of humor I like is the thing that makes me laugh for five seconds and think for ten minutes = G. CARLIN...Stain glass, engraved glass, frosted glass
–give me plain glass = JOHN FOWLES ... Music is the mathematics of the gods=PYTHAGORAS ... Nothing is more fluid than language = R. L. SWIHART
I cannot live without the oxygen of laughter = DAWN POWELL ... !!! ... But laughter cannot survive without the hydrogen of gravitas = PAUL OLIVERIO
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Wednesday, January 31, 2018

The 95th Bullet: Simple Arithmetic Of Personal Satisfaction

________________________________________________________________________________________________


Masturbation is the product
of one times itself.

________________________________________________________________________________________________
 Footnotes
THE 95th BULLET 
is the copyrighted property of  LCSoL.
 
Only the first 45 Bullets are linked together
because we do not want to make life easy
for our favorite thieves. 

This bullet was originally written
in 1998.
 _______________________________________________________________________________________________


Sunday, January 28, 2018

Poem Inspired By A Poem For Paul Klee [HKu #51]

________________________________________________________________________________________________


The moon talks at midnight

Curtains billow

Shadows curl
across the floor

________________________________________________________________________________________________
Footnotes
POEM INSPIRED BY
A POEM FOR PAUL KLEE
is the copyrighted property
of LCSoL

The next GoFather Haiku page is
here
________________________________________________________________________________________________


A Gift ... Possibly From the Boy Mentioned On The Previous Page

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit. It was now mid-August, which meant he had been separated from Marsha for more than two months. Two months, and all he had to show was three dog-eared letters and two very expensive long-distance phone calls.

True, when school had ended and she'd returned to Wisconsin, and he to Locust, Pennsylvania, she had sworn to maintain a certain fidelity. She would date occasionally, but merely as amusement. She would remain faithful.

But lately Waldo had begun to worry. He had trouble sleeping at night and when he did, he had horrible dreams. He lay awake at night, tossing and turning underneath his pleated quilt protector, tears welling in his eyes as he pictured Marsha, her sworn vows overcome by liquor and the smooth soothing of some neanderthal, finally submitting to the final caresses of sexual oblivion. It was more than the human mind could bear.

Visions of Marsha's faithlessness haunted him. Daytime fantasies of sexual abandon permeated his thoughts. And the thing was, they wouldn't understand how she really was. He, Waldo, alone understood this. He had intuitively grasped every nook and cranny of her psyche. He had made her smile. She needed him, and he wasn't there.
 

The idea came to him on the Thursday before the Mummers' Parade was scheduled to appear. He'd just finished mowing and edging the Edelson's lawn for a dollar fifty and had checked the mailbox to see if there was at least a word from Marsha. 
There was nothing but a circular from the Amalgamated Aluminum Company of America inquiring into his awning needs. At least they cared enough to write.

It was a New York company. You could go anywhere in the mails. 


Then it struck him. He didn't have enough money to go to Wisconsin in the accepted fashion, true, but why not mail himself? It was absurdly simple. He would ship himself parcel post, special delivery. The next day Waldo went to the supermarket to purchase the necessary equipment. He bought masking tape, a staple gun and a medium sized cardboard box just right for a person of his build. He judged that with a minimum of jostling he could ride quite comfortably. A few air holes, some water, perhaps some midnight snacks, and it would probably be as good as going tourist!

By Friday afternoon, Waldo was set. He was thoroughly packed and the Post Office had agreed to pick him up at three o'clock. He'd marked the package "Fragile", and as he sat curled up inside, resting on the foam rubber cushioning he'd thoughtfully included, he tried to picture the look of awe and happiness on Marshas face as she opened her door, saw the package, tipped the deliverer, and then opened it to see her Waldo finally there in person. She would kiss him, and then maybe they could see a movie. If he'd only thought of this before. Suddenly rough hands gripped his package and he felt himself borne up. He landed with a thud in a truck and was off.

Marsha Bronson had just finished setting her hair. It had been a very rough weekend. She had to remember not to drink like that. Bill had been nice about it though. After it was over he'd said he still respected her and, after all, it was certainly the way of nature, and even though, no, he didn't love her, he did feel an affection for her. And after all, they were grown adults. Oh, what Bill could teach Waldo! But that seemed many years ago.

Sheila Klein, her very, very best friend, walked in through the porch screen door and into the kitchen. "Oh gawd, it's absolutely maudlin outside."
"Ach, I know what you mean, I feel all icky!"


Marsha tightened the belt on her cotton robe with the silk outer edge. Sheila ran her finger over some salt grains on the kitchen table, licked her finger and made a face.
"I'm supposed to be taking these salt pills, but," she wrinkled her nose, "they make me feel like throwing up." Marsha started to pat herself under the chin, an exercise she'd seen on television.


"God, don't even talk about that."


She got up from the table and went to the sink where she picked up a bottle of pink and blue vitamins. "Want one? Supposed to be better than steak," and then attempted to touch her knees.

"I don't think I'll ever touch a daiquiri again."

She gave up and sat down, this time nearer the small table that supported the telephone. "Maybe Bill'll call," she said to Sheila's glance. Sheila nibbled on a cuticle.


"After last night, I thought maybe you'd be through with him."
"I know what you mean. My God, he was like an octopus. Hands all over the place."


She gestured, raising her arms upwards in defense. "The thing is, after a while, you get tired of fighting with him, you know, and after all I didn't really do anything Friday and Saturday so I kind of owed it to him. You know what I mean." She started to scratch. Sheila was giggling with her hand over her mouth
"I'll tell you, I felt the same way, and even after a while," here she bent forward in a whisper, "I wanted to!" Now she was laughing very loudly

It was at this point that Mr. Jameson of the Clarence Darrow Post Office rang the doorbell of the large stucco colored frame house. When Marsha Bronson opened the door, he helped her carry the package in. He had his yellow and his green slips of paper signed and left with a fifteen cent tip that Marsha had gotten out of her mother's small beige pocketbook in the den
"What do you think it is?" Sheila asked. Marsha stood with her arms folded behind her back. She stared at the brown cardboard carton that sat in the middle of the living room
"I dunno."

Inside the package, Waldo quivered with excitement as he listened to the muffled voices. Sheila ran her fingernail over the masking tape that ran down the center of the carton
"Why don't you look at the return address and see who it's from?" Waldo felt his heart beating. He could feel the vibrating footsteps. It would be soon.

Marsha walked around the carton and read the ink-scratched label. 

"Ah, god it's from Waldo!"
"That schmuck!" said Sheila. Waldo trembled with expectation. 


"Well, you might as well open it," said Sheila.
Both of them tried to lift the staple flap.
"Ah shit," said Marsha, groaning, "he must have nailed it shut." 


They tugged on the flap again.
"My God, you need a power drill to get this thing open!"
They pulled again.
"You can't get a grip."
They both stood still, breathing heavily.
"Why don't you get a scissor," said Sheila.

Marsha ran into the kitchen, but all she could find was a little sewing scissor. Then she remembered that her father kept a collection of tools in the basement. She ran downstairs, and when she came back up, she had a large sheet metal cutter in her hand. 

"This is the best I could find." 
She was very out of breath. 
"Here, you do it. I-I'm gonna die."

She sank into a large fluffy couch and exhaled noisily. 
Sheila tried to make a slit between the masking tape and the end of the cardboard flap, but the blade was too big and there wasn't enough room.
 

"God damn this thing!" she said feeling very exasperated. 
Then smiling:
"I got an idea."
"What?" said Marsha.
"Just watch," said Sheila, touching her finger to her head.

Inside the package, Waldo was so transfixed with excitement that he could barely breathe. His skin felt prickly from the heat, and he could feel his heart beating in his throat. It would be soon.


Sheila stood quite upright and walked around to the other side of the package. Then she sank down to her knees, grasped the cutter by both handles, took a deep breath, and plunged the long blade through the middle of the package, through the masking tape, through the cardboard, through the cushioning and right through the center of Waldo Jeffers head, which split slightly and caused little rhythmic arcs of red to pulsate gently in the morning sun.

The Gift

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Footnote
THE GIFT was written by  Lou Reed
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


A Visit To Shangri La

________________________________________________________________________________________________

Your life is so lonely
like a child without a toy.
Then a miracle: a boy.  
***
I packed my clothes and
left home that night.
Though she begged me to stay,
I was sure I was right.

And you know something funny?
I forgot that boy right away.

Instead I remember
being tucked in bed
and hearing my mama say
"Hush, little baby, don't you cry
Mama won't go away"


***

SHANGRI-LAs
I Can Never Go Home
Anymore 
________________________________________________________________________________________________


Photoverio #284: Pittsburg Plumbing Pipe Choir

________________________________________________________________________________________________


© Oliverio
Canta Duro
________________________________________________________________________________________________


Saturday, January 27, 2018

Corporations Are Also People Movers (Comic Relief # 2100)

________________________________________________________________________________________________

________________________________________________________________________________________________


Friday, January 26, 2018

The 94th Bullet: Within And Without

________________________________________________________________________________________________


Voices within voices
give language more choices.

________________________________________________________________________________________________
 Footnotes
THE 94th BULLET 
is the copyrighted property of  LCSoL.
 
Only the first 45 Bullets are linked together
because we do not want to make life easy
for our favorite thieves. 
 _______________________________________________________________________________________________


Thursday, January 25, 2018

Now Available In All Sizes ... [ pST #35]

________________________________________________________________________________________________


© Available from this Website ©
$20.02
 
***

The next 
Superimposed Text page
is
here


The p in the title
stands for
photoverio


________________________________________________________________________________________________
FOOTNOTE
Our mailing address will be made available
to anyone who inquires about purchase
of this very cool and contemporary
t-shirt.
________________________________________________________________________________________________


Two Exclusive Reports About The Next Presidential Election

________________________________________________________________________________________________


read more at
The Borowitz Report
***


read more at
Onion News
***
The next GoFather/Trump page
is   here
________________________________________________________________________________________________


Church Of The Holy Feline (Comic Relief #2096)

________________________________________________________________________________________________


Mike Twohy
________________________________________________________________________________________________


CarPeo Set Piece #77 ... Yesterday's Roses

________________________________________________________________________________________________



© Mrs. CarPeo (2x)
Outside Our Door

 The next
CarPeo Set Piece
is
here 

________________________________________________________________________________________________


This Is Not ... This Is ... [TIN/TI #43]

________________________________________________________________________________________________



  ⬆ 
THIS IS NOT  
An Arcimboldo painting


THIS IS 
An Arcimboldo painting
 



The second image
was painted
in the 16th century by
Giuseppe Arcimboldo

He is the artist
who kick-started
the Surrealist movement
five hundred years ago

The first image
was photographed by
Mrs. Carpeo
in the 21st century

(more precisely, 2 weeks ago)

 The Arcimboldo image
—unbleached—
is
here
________________________________________________________________________________________________


Wednesday, January 24, 2018

Exclusive Report From Borowitz News

________________________________________________________________________________________________


The article continues
here
________________________________________________________________________________________________


Monday, January 22, 2018

Exclusive Report From Onion News

________________________________________________________________________________________________

The print may be slightly blurred
but, considering the subject,
it is worth your effort
to read this:  
The Onion

_______________________________________________________________________________________________


The Wisest Man In America And The 300,000,000

________________________________________________________________________________________________

Three hundred million of us!
What can you say about 
three hundred million that holds?
The world's been in a race
toward total confusion,
and we've gotten there first.
We've created the first society
you can't generalize about
except in the smallest
most trivial way.
America?
When it comes to writing
about America,
anything goes.

________________________________________________________________________________________________
Footnote
The next Wetherell pageis
TBD
________________________________________________________________________________________________



Sunday, January 21, 2018

The 93rd Bullet: An Alternative To Maturity

________________________________________________________________________________________________


Young girls
not longer seek maturity.
What they seek is
Me-Too-ity.

________________________________________________________________________________________________
 Footnotes
THE 93rd BULLET 
is the copyrighted property of  LCSoL.
 
Only the first 45 Bullets are linked together
because we do not want to make life easy
for our favorite thieves.

My next ME-Too page is  here     ________________________________________________________________________________________________


The Smile That Could Go On For More Than A Mile

________________________________________________________________________________________________

This perfect man had a smile
so wide it seemed a second smile
superimposed atop the first,
as if he were laughing
at the world
and at himself
simultaneously.

The Wisest Man In America

The next Wetherell page
is
here
________________________________________________________________________________________________


This Is What Happens When You Stop Being Young

________________________________________________________________________________________________

Geriatrics has become
a wondrous science.
The medics can now
stretch your life out
an additional twenty years
but they don't tell you
that most of those years
are going to be spent
flat on your back
while some ghoul
with thick glasses
and a matted skull
peers at you through a machine
that's out of "Space Patrol."

(1954)


________________________________________________________________________________________________
Questions
Does MRI actually stand for
My Retired Identity
???

What did Groucho mean 
by "Space Control"
??? 
________________________________________________________________________________________________


Thursday, January 18, 2018

My Twelve Favorite SHORT STORIES

________________________________________________________________________________________________

12) THE STOWAWAY                                               Julian Barnes
Because Noah's Ark was made of wood, there was an animal species on board whose population was much greater than two.
There were more woodworms than there were humans on Noah's Ark. One of those worms tells us much more about the floating zoo than any Biblical scholar would want you to know. Imagine what would have happened if the National Inquirer existed when Noah built this boat. If that were true, Mr. Barnes might not have needed to write this story.

11) YOU CAN'T TELL A MAN BY THE SONG...      Philip Roth
I've read over two thousand pages of Philip Roth and am insanely jealous of his talents but what makes this short story stand out is that nowhere in its approximately twenty pages does he use the word Jew. The main character, excluding the narrator (his former classmate) is an Italian street thug.
 
10) THE MAN WHO LOVED LEVITTOWN          J.D. Wetherell
Narrated by a "settler" of the town on Long Island developed by Arthur Levitt shortly after World War II. He gave priority ownership to World War II veterans. But, years later, all of the narrator's original neighbors either died or moved away, selling their homes to a foreign element, commonly known as yuppies.
Being a fellow Long Islander who was well-acquainted with another of Arthur Levitt's building projects (Le Havre, in Beechhurst), this story hit close to home. I once had incendiary urges when a newcomer moved into Rocky Point and eliminated a memorable beach cliff by building a house there. 
Also, there happens to be a Paul Oliverio residing in present-day Levittown. We were both named for his father. My cousin was neither a veteran nor would he ever be mistaken for a Yuppie. I am, however, convinced that the man who loved Levittown would have welcomed cousin Paul as a neighbor.

9) A CLEAN WELL-LIGHTED PLACE          Ernest Hemingway
Set in a saloon, this story is famously known as the source of the non-prayer Our Nada who art in Nada, Nada be thy name. It is nothing like what Hemingway is famous for. No macho characters, no punches thrown and amazingly short: no more than five pages.

8) A DIAMOND AS BIG AS THE RITZ               Scott Fitzgerald
This is the only story written by Fitzgerald that qualifies as science fiction but it would never make you think of Ray Bradbury. Of course, somewhere within this short story, "boy meets girl" and their love has strange legs as mountains explode in the background.

7) THE DOUBLE                                             Fyodor Doestoevski
An author not known for his sense of humor, Doestoevski will have you laughing out loud (LOL-ing) in this story about a pencil pushing clerk who is not invited to an office party. But he witnesses the festivities from outside the door. The center of attention at the party is none other than himself in sartorial splendor.

6) THE MAN WHO CORRUPTED HADLEYBURG     M. Twain
The most profound, prolific, and quote-worthy writer this country has ever produced, Mark Twain tells the story of a village full of good Christian folk. When a stranger arrives there with a bag full of lucre, the devout denizens react in a most un-Christian manner.
Like the story ranked #1, a quote altering the words of the perfect prayer has  resonated with me for more than forty years.
  
5) THANK YOU MA'AM                                    Langston Hughes
A classic example of the generation gap in Harlem with universal implications. Sadly, nothing listed above or below had gotten me in so much trouble as a teacher.
In 1983, I was substituting for an English teacher in Oceanside. There was no lesson plan and I happened to have a Langston Hughes anthology in my attache case. So I impulsively decided to Xerox enough copies for 150 students.
Thank You Ma'am is four pages long, therefore, more than 400 pages of Xeroxing was done (without requesting permission) in the main office of the school. If Oceanside High wasn't desperate for substitute teachers, I would have been fired on the spot.
That's not correct: subs did not get fired. their phones just stopped ringing at 5AM.
Most of the students thoroughly enjoyed the story. One of them was Junior Seau, the late great linebacker who is in the Football Hall of Fame.
In 1973, I substituted for another English teacher at a  Junior High School in New York. That teacher also left no lesson plans so I read Thank You, Ma'am.  The Principal chastised me for doing so and  I will quote the chosen Caucasian: 
"Langston Hughes was not a short story writer.
He wrote plays and poems." 
I challenged that statement, telling him that Langston doubled as "the black O Henry." In response, the Principal's eyes told me that my services would no longer be needed at his school which was fine by me: there were enough other schools in need of substitute humans teachers.
    
4) A PERFECT DAY FOR BANANA FISH               J.D. Salinger
This is the entry story for the Glass family. Date-wise, it precedes Franny and Zooey who are the two youngest of seven gifted Glass siblings, all of whom achieved national fame on a radio quiz show. Banana Fish is about the eldest and most influential Glass sibling. His name is Seymour and the story takes place in Miami where he is on his honeymoon. Seymour's wedding (though the word should be in quotation marks) is the subject of another Salinger novella: Raise High The Roofbeam, Carpenters. 

3) THE CAMEL'S BACK                                       Scott Fitzgerald
Like his novels, Diamond As Big As The Ritz  does not have any laugh out loud moments. That is not true of The Camel's Back nor most of the other short stories handpicked by Fitzgerald in 1922 for a volume entitled Tales Of The Jazz Age. 
This story is about an unusual way of presenting an engagement ring to one's beloved. If it doesn't make you laugh out loud, please see a doctor as soon as possible.

2) THE GLADS                                                            Dawn Powell
When her friend and drinking buddy, Dorothy Parker, read this story, she called Dawn and demanded that the lesser known DP stick to writing novels. Short stories are what made Ms. Parker famous and if Ms. Powell had specialized in short stories, Dorothy would have been only half as famous. Luckily for her, Dawn preferred novels and twelve of them inspired at least forty pages of the Godfather of Math Trilogy.
The Glads is a story about a woman who returns to Ohio, many years after seeking fame and fortune in New York and Hollywood. She returns to attend a funeral. The title is the short form of gladiolas. 

1) A HUNGER ARTIST                                               Franz Kafka
Kafka's novels and his too-long-for-this-list story, Metamorphosis are much better known than this Kafka story about a circus performer who just sat in a cage without eating any food. People came from miles around to watch this man starve himself into obscurity. It may sound like a silly premise but Kafka's logic and elegant simplicity make it sound factual. Come to think of it, so much of what Kafka wrote could easily sound "silly."
The end of A Hunger Artist—justification for the artist's existence —has been resonating in my mind since I first read the story as a high school sophomore in 1965.
  

________________________________________________________________________________________________
Footnotes
My guilt is compromised by including a story from "the black O Henry"
but too many short stories from the actual O Henry
(pen name of Sidney Porter) qualified from this list.

You can read about five of them  here.

This page has gone through four drafts and hopefully
there will not be a fifth draft.

This page also doubles as a Googler's paradise.

The next GoFather/Fitzgerald page is  there.
________________________________________________________________________________________________


Wednesday, January 17, 2018

CarPeo Set Piece #76 ... Point Counterpoint

________________________________________________________________________________________________


© Mrs. CarPeo
Spiderious

 The next
CarPeo Set Piece
is
here 
________________________________________________________________________________________________


Photoverio #283: We Stayed At The Sky Lizard Hotel

________________________________________________________________________________________________


© Oliverio

We had to pay extra
for the red arrow 
________________________________________________________________________________________________


The 92nd Bullet: How To Be A Successful Politician + 92.5th Bullet

________________________________________________________________________________________________


The first  thing
a successful politician
has to do is secure
a lifetime prescription
for sincerity pills.

________________________________________________________________________________________________
 Footnotes
THE 92nd BULLET 
is the copyrighted property of  LCSoL.

THE 92.5th BULLET:
The second thing
asuccessful politician
has to do is secure
is a lifetime prescription
of worship pills 
for his/her
constituency. 
 
Only the first 45 Bullets are linked together
because we do not want to make life easy
for our favorite thieves.    ________________________________________________________________________________________________


There Is A Simple, Surefire Way To Avoid Government Shutdown

________________________________________________________________________________________________


DEAR PAUL R.
 
All you have to do is guarantee
the shutdown will deny paychecks
to Senators and Congressmen/women
P.S.
When you were a child,
were you the role model
for the film
Damien
??

Sincerely,
PAUL O.
________________________________________________________________________________________________


Imagine Being An Artist With Polished But Limited Painting Skills

________________________________________________________________________________________________

AND
you had a looping paint brush
that sometimes used colors
reminiscent of
Gustav Klimt


THEN
your name would be
Anne Siems 
 
________________________________________________________________________________________________

What Raymond Chandler Had To Say About With Curvature

________________________________________________________________________________________________


More quotes from Raymond Chandler
are
here 

________________________________________________________________________________________________


What If A Writer Were So Good He Could Rotate Gravity?

________________________________________________________________________________________________


Evidence that Scott Fitzgerald was good enough
to rotate gravity can be found
here 

________________________________________________________________________________________________
Footnote
The next GoFather/Fitzgerald
page is
here
________________________________________________________________________________________________


Recently, I Was Seeing Double ... But Now I Am Seeing Dubious

________________________________________________________________________________________________

Anonymous requests an e-mail response
to a "no reply" e-mail

  Anonymous wrote
"I am having a look ahead to touch you."

Anonymous  convinced me 
that English is not
his/her first language.

The "remarkable issue"
referred to
is
here 
________________________________________________________________________________________________


I Can Hear A Dog Named Edward Barking At This Image

________________________________________________________________________________________________

Because
the dog knows
...
this image
is not hand-drawn

It is a photographic detail
of tree bark


The dog's last name
is
Gorey 
________________________________________________________________________________________________


Two Similar-Sounding Pieces Of Advice Are Not All That Similar

________________________________________________________________________________________________

(1)
Girls:
Do not be afraid
to speak out

(2)
Girls:
Do not be afraid
to speak out
truthfully

The first piece of advice is short, direct and without qualification. 
It aligns with our cherished Freedom of Speech.  A girl wouldn't feel inferior or left out if other girls had compelling reasons to speak out and she had nothing to say. That girl could, if necessary, decorate some facts or create some facts and get rewarded with a lot of sympathy and compassion.


The second piece of advice repeats all the words of the first but adds a qualifier. The second piece of advice is neither short nor direct. The qualifier increases the syllables of advice by twenty-five percent while reducing the reward of sympathy and compassion if truthful information fails to create a victim of sexual harassment.
Requiring truthfulness also reduces a girl's ability to deceive while increasing her ability to be boring without creating colorful fabrications about sexual abuse.

But all humans need sympathy and compassion.
Or do they?
________________________________________________________________________________________________


Tuesday, January 16, 2018

The 91st Bullet: Neither GodFather Nor Godmother But ...

________________________________________________________________________________________________


Impatience is
the God-Uncle
of ignorance

________________________________________________________________________________________________
 Footnotes
THE 91st BULLET 
is the copyrighted property of  LCSoL.

Only the first 45 Bullets are linked together
because we do not want to make life easy
for our favorite thieves.    ________________________________________________________________________________________________


Monday, January 15, 2018

I Was Seeing Double But It Was ... Double Trouble For The Saints

________________________________________________________________________________________________

I don't stop playing
till the clock hit zero



________________________________________________________________________________________________


None Of The Below ... a/k/a ... The Binary Epistle

________________________________________________________________________________________________

None did wrong
before some did right

None were blind
before some found sight

None were weak
before there was might

None could chew
before they could bite

None cheered black
before there was white

None blessed day
before there was night

None had width
before there was height

None could leave
before there was flight

Nothing dark
before there was light

***
***



________________________________________________________________________________________________
Footnote
NONE OF THE BELOW...a/k/a...THE BINARY EPISTLE
is the copyrighted property of LCSoL
________________________________________________________________________________________________


Sunday, January 14, 2018

A Song About That Guy Who Had A Birthday Twenty Days Ago

________________________________________________________________________________________________

HE'S ALIVE

The gates and doors were barred
And all the windows fastened down
I spent the night in sleeplessness
And rose at every sound


Half in hope of sorrow
And half in fear the day
Would find the soldiers breakin' through
To drag us all away


And just before the sunrise
I heard something at the wall
The gate began to rattle
And a voice began to call


I hurried to the window
Looked down into the street
Expecting swords and torches
And the sound of soldiers' feet
But there was no one there but Mary
So I went down to let her in
John stood there beside me
As she told me where she'd been


She said they've moved Him in the night
And none of us know where
The stone's been rolled away
And now His body isn't there
We both ran towards the garden
Then John ran on ahead
We found the stone and empty tomb
Just the way that Mary said


But the winding sheet they wrapped Him in
Was just an empty shell
And how or where they'd taken Him
Was more than I could tell
Oh something strange had happened there
Just what I did not know
John believed a miracle
But I just turned to go


Circumstance and speculation
Couldn't lift me very high
'Cause I'd seen them crucify Him
Then I saw Him die
Back inside the house again
The guilt and anguish came
Everything I'd promised Him
Just added to my shame


When at last it came to choices
I denied I knew His name
And even if He was alive
It wouldn't be the same
But suddenly the air was filled
With a strange and sweet perfume
Light that came from everywhere
Drove shadows from the room


And Jesus stood before me
With His arms held open wide
And I fell down on my knees
And I just clung to Him and cried
Then He raised me to my feet
And as I looked into His eyes
The love was shining out from Him
Like sunlight from the skies


Guilt in my confusion
Disappeared in sweet release
And every fear I ever had
Just melted into peace
He's alive yes He's alive
Yes He's alive and I'm forgiven
Heaven's gates are open wide
He's alive yes He's alive

 
Sweet Jesus


***
***

written by

performed by
________________________________________________________________________________________________


If This Is A Poem, The Title Is ... The Infinite Journey

________________________________________________________________________________________________

The gyroscopic journey
between
saying and doing
traverses
the intergalactic interstate
between
thought and action

Paul Oliverio
© (2002) © 

________________________________________________________________________________________________


The 90th Bullet: Curve Ball

________________________________________________________________________________________________


When you move along
along a learning curve,
it is easy to get thrown
for a loop. 


________________________________________________________________________________________________
 Footnotes
THE 90th BULLET 
is the copyrighted property of  LCSoL.

Only the first 45 Bullets are linked together
because we do not want to make life easy
for our favorite thieves.    ________________________________________________________________________________________________