The Godfather is dead . . .

Wednesday, October 15, 2025. It's Odin's day . . . and moderate Southeasterlies are forecasted to maintain warm sunny skies for TulseyTown, with upper 80's this afternoon.

Jack Smith is back in the news. And he's not holding back. – Joyce Vance, in Civil Discourse.

Smacking synchronicity – today is the birthdate of novelist Mario_Puzo (The Godfather), born in 1920 New York City.

An update on the government shutdown was posted last night by Heather Cox Richardson, in Letters From An American.

Today is the birthdate of philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche, born in Röcken, a village in 1844 Prussia.

“God is dead...and we have killed Him.” – Nietzsche.

Nietzche is often misquoted as having said only that “God is dead.” By “we have killed him” he meant the strangulation and ritualization of religion by languaged attempts to put God in a box. He may have been reading Virgil.

Speaking of Virgil. Today is also his birthdate. The Roman poet was born Publius Vergilius Maro on this day in 70 B.C.E. near Mantua, Italy.

“ If I cannot move heaven, I will raise hell.” ― Virgil, The Aeneid, line 312

While The Organ Peeled Potatoes — by Anonymous

It was midnight on the ocean;

Not a street car was in sight.

The sun was shining brightly,

And it rained all day that night.

'Twas a summer's night in winter

And the rain was snowing fast.

A barefoot boy with shoes on

Stood sitting on the grass.

The rain was pouring down,

The moon was shining bright,

And everything that you could see

Was hidden out of sight.

It was evening and the rising sun

Was setting in the West.

The little fishes in the trees

Were huddled in their nest.

While the organ peeled potatoes,

Lard was rendered by the choir.

While the sexton rang the dish rag,

Someone set the church on fire.

"Holy Smoke," the preacher shouted,

And in the rush he lost his hair.

Now his head resembles heaven,

For there is no parting there.

I saw a great, big, tiny house

Ten thousand miles away.

And to my view 'twas out of sight

Last night, the other day.

The walls projected inward,

The front door round the back.

Alone it stood between two more.

The walls were whitewashed black.

A great, big, tiny house I saw

Ten thousand miles away.

And to my view 'twas out of sight

The other day, last night. – in the public domain (I think. There are many variations)