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Jandel Uy Mar 2017
Ikaw na babaeng sumasayaw sa dilim,
   Ikaw na nakakapit sa patalim:

Di ba nasusugat ang porselanang palad
    Na kasing lambot ng puwit ng sanggol?

Sa matalim na kutsilyong kinakapitan
      Ano mang oras hahatulan ng lipunan?

At sa higpit ng piring mo sa mata,
     Pasasaan pa't mabubulag ka na

Ikaw na babaeng gumigiling-giling,
   Iba't ibang laway ang pinanghihilamos gabi-gabi

Ang sugatan **** puso'y walang gamot
    Ngunit ang kandungan mo'y sagot

Sa mga problema ng mga lalakeng–
      Naghahanap ng panandaliang saya.

Ikaw ba, babaeng hubad,
   Naranasan mo na ba ang lumigaya?

Kumusta na ba ang anak mo sa una **** nobyo?
     Balita ko'y di ka na niya kilala.

Hindi ba't may tatlo ka pa sa probinsiya
   Na pinagkakasiya ang padala **** barya?

Naalala mo ba ang bilin sa 'yo
     Ni Karla na siyang una **** bugaw?

"Huwag **** bigyan ng puwang sa utak mo
      Ang sasabihin ng Inay mo.

Sasampalin ka niya, di ng palad niya,
     Kun'di sakit na dama ng isang Ina.

At iyon ang pinakamasakit
    Sa lahat ng puwedeng sumakit."

Ilang ulit mo na bang tinanong ang sarili
   Kung saan ka nagkamali?

Kung ilang liko ang ginawa
     Para mapunta sa hawlang 'sing dilim ng kuweba

Na pinamamahayan ng mga paniking
     Takot sa liwanag na magpapakita ng mga galos

Na bunga ng mga gabing kinukurot ang sarili,
     Tinatanong, hinihiling na sana'y bangungot lamang

Ang buhay nila sa dilim,
    Pasasaan pa't nasanay na rin.

Ikaw na isang mabahong lihim
   Ng mga mister na may misis na bungangera

Ha'mo na't sa iyo naman sila panatag
     Sa mga suso **** malusog, pinili nilang humimbing.

Ikaw na pantasiya ng karamihan,
   Ano ba ang pakiramdam ng pinagsasalsalan

Ng mga nagbibinatang hindi pa tuli,
      Ng mga lalakeng di kaya ang presiyo mo,

O ng matandang libog na libog sa mabango **** kepyas
      Ngunit nanghihiram ng lakas at tigas sa ******?

Saan ka na ba nakapuwesto ngayon?
    Sa Malate, Morayta, Quiapo, o Aurora?

Ilan na ba ang napuntahan mo?
  Ilan pa ba ang bibiyayaan mo ng iyong alindog?

Sa Makati Ave, Pasay, o sa Parañaque?
      Ha'mo na't langit pa rin naman ang dala mo

Kahit na alam ninyo ng Diyos
    Na nakaukit na ang pangalan mo sa impyerno.

Ikaw na babaeng walang pangalan,
   Ano ba ang itatawag ko sa 'yo?

Ilan na ba ang nahiram mo sa tabloid
  O sa mga artistang iniidolo mo?

Kathryn, Julia, Nadine, Meg, Yen, Anne
    Yna, Katya, Ara, Cristine, Kristine, Maui

Daria, Pepsi, RC, Susan, Gloria, Lorna, Aida, Fe
    Vilma, Sharon, Nora, Maricel, Dina

Ikaw na babaeng 'sing nipis ng balat ng sibuyas ang saplot
   Di ka ba nilalamig sa pag-iisa mo?

Ikaw na babaeng marumi,
  Sadsad na sa lupa ang lipad, saan ka pupunta?

Wala ka nang kawala sa dilim,
     Pasasaan pa't malalagutan ka rin ng hininga
        at  magpapasalamat sa biyaya.

Ikaw na babaeng bukod tangi,
   Ginawa **** lahat pero hindi naging patas ang mundo.

Lunukin mo na lang ang mga hibla ng pagsisisi
    Ipagdadasal kong huwag nang magdilim sa hawla mo.
Vilma Vitanza Apr 2016
Here people stroll,
Wars rage in other lands.
---How blind are humans.
---

9/17/2008(c)Vilma Vitanza


HAIKU II

Such a wise woman
---To see the hidden jewel
In the heavy dross.
- - -

9/17/2008(c)Vilma Vitanza
M Feb 2018
Clear blue skies
Sun above our heads
Still it's a gloomy day
I dreamt of a moment
Where the soil is dry
And the children never cried
Yet a dream is but a dream
Still it's a gloomy day
Dusty clouds
Tiny raindrops
Countless woes
Suspended for eternity
It's a gloomy day
30/10/2017
Vilma Vitanza Apr 2016
Is our presence on Earth an illusion created by the mind?
If we lived on a different planet
Would we be the same creatures that we are:
Accumulating material things,
Starting wars to satisfy the need for power, or for greed?
If Universal Mind switched our illusion for yet another one,
What then?

^ ^ ^

2009(c)Vilma Vitanza
Vilma Vitanza Apr 2016
Are you listening?
Can't you hear the voices of my heart
That call for your attention
To what they have to say?

Are you listening?
The sun is now setting in the sky,
The sounds along the streets are calming down... .
Why is it that you don't listen to the voices of my heart?
-      -      -      -      -      -

08/19/2015(c)Vilma Vitanza
Oakland, CA
Vilma Vitanza Apr 2016
Searching for monsters in my mind
I walk the path within myself time and again.
Alone
In silence
I find Fear
An ever present Fear.
Relentless Fear.
Fear to live?
To die?
Afraid to build a Paradise all of my own?

The past, a part of me, always will be.
The present and the future are one in my today.
I must get rid of Fear, the monster in my mind.

07/30/04(c)Vilma Vitanza
Palermo, Italy.
Hi, I had trouble understanding the technical writing about copyrights, etc.  #2 If I want Fear to be bold, what do I do?  I tried using double asterisk but did not succeed.  #3  I wanted the last two lines: date(c)Vilma Vitanza to be on the left side.   Unsuccessful as well. (?)
Vilma Vitanza Apr 2016
After tossing by my side for a long while
Sleep left me alone tonight.
"I want to walk around the lake,"  It said,
Swiftly leaving my bed.

I understand why Sleep left me tonight.
It is a quiet time.  Quiet.  Dark.
When I open the window leading toward the lake
White, puffy clouds cover the stars---
I cannot see a soul.

But on the path going around the lake
I see Sleep in the distance walking away from me.
- - -

08/06/2015(c)Vilma Vitanza
Oakland, CA
Vilma Vitanza Apr 2016
What have I done with my life?
What am I doing with my life now?
What do I want to do with what remains of it?
What have I done with my life?  
I haven't done a thing to change the world.
I haven't brought communities together---I didn't even try.
What have I done with my life?  I haven't fought corruption,
I have't stopped the wars.  I haven't helped the homeless
And those who have much less than I.
What have I done with my life?  I haven't cleaned the oceans
Of the garbage that we dump.  I haven't cleaned the air that we breathe.
What have I done with my life?  All I can say is that I have loved.
I have loved the earth, the trees, and all the living things.  
I have loved my family, my friends, and the lovers that I've had.
What do I want to do with the rest of my life?
Is it hours I have left?  Is it days? Is it weeks, or months, or years
That I carry on my back?  I do not know.
But I know my heart will help me find the way
As I walk on this tightrope.
I shall try to listen better, and shall try to use fewer words;
I cannot change the world
For I am just a speck of dust in the great landscape of our planet.
In the meantime I'll continue to be me.
I'll continue to love you through the remaining of my life.

09/16/2015(c)Vilma Vitanza
Oakland, CA
I wrote this peace as a farewell to family, friends and California while preparing to move to NC.
Vilma Vitanza Apr 2016
I watch you sleep:
At times an occasional sigh
Opens your lips,
Then, you continue to breathe
The breath of Life.
- - -

20/18/04(c)Vilma Vitanza
Richmond, CA
Vilma Vitanza Apr 2016
He sits across the table in a quiet mood
Holding the paper with both hands,
Concentrated on the daily news.
"Anything good?"   I ask.
His lips and eyes smile looking at me.
"There's the sad news,
And then there's the depressing news,"
He says, smiling again.
This time his eyelids, two tired butterflies,
Cover his eyes---I cannot see their smile.

                               * * *
09/19/2008(c)Vilma Vitanza
Berkeley, CA
Vilma Vitanza Apr 2016
Such a wise woman----
To see the hidden jewel
In the heavy dross.
-_-

9/17/08(c)Vilma Vitanza
Berkeley, CA
Vilma Vitanza Apr 2016
Come, chat with me tonight for the last time
In this house that was mine,
But is now in a stranger's hands.

Come.  Let us say goodbye tonight,
And drink tea from the blue cup that we both like.
Remember the old cup you gave me once?
It is the only one that still remains unpacked.

Tonight ghosts from the past will step out from the walls,
With whispers of *******,
Laughter of children sounding from room to room,
And we shall smell the scent of herbs
Drifting out from the kitchen where we spent so much time.

Come visit me tonight, my friend,
Help me lighten the burden of my leaving
Now breathing down my neck.
- - -

01/09/99(c)Vilma Vitanza
Albany, CA
Vilma Vitanza Apr 2016
Your cap.
Your brown night cap.
Your brown night cap no longer has your scent---
Even your cap betrayed me when you left.

Not much remains of you in this my little house.
Your picture's in the kitchen over the window sill;
Your four shirts, one T-shirt, one handkerchief,
One pair of socks, towels, pajamas,
And the brush I bought for you.

Now, let's see... have I forgotten something
That is not mine but yours?
Oh, yes, your books!

The inventory is almost finished, I believe... .
But, no.  I'm not quite done.
There's something else you left, something I cannot return.
They are the memories that we built together,
The bruises in my heart,
The broken dreams, the magic,
The remnants of my youth.

Now, everything is packed and we must say goodbye,
Goodbye to you,
The Spring that came in Winter
The Winter of our lives.
   -        -        -       -       -

04/31/04(c)Vilma Vitanza
Richmond, CA
Vilma Vitanza Apr 2016
SEARCHING FOR MONSTERS

Searching for monsters in my mind
I walk the path within myself time and again.

Alone
In silence
I find Fear,
The ever present Fear
Relentless Fear
Fear to live?
To die?
Fear to build a Paradise all of my own?

The past, a part of me, always will be.
The present and the future are in my today.
I must get rid of Fear to build my Paradise.


7/30/04.(c)Vilma Vitanza
Palermo.  Italy
Sorry.  I am never through working on a poem... .
Vilma Vitanza Apr 2016
Tucked on a shelf I found a book
Bound in red leather.
Its pages soft as worn-out silk
With the damp odor of mold.
Between its pages was a note,
Blurred by the hands of time:
"I'll wait for you tonight by the church door.
I'll be there at seven.  Don't be late."

* * *

1980(c)Vilma Vitanza
Albany, CA
Vilma Vitanza Apr 2016
There will be no good-byes
No farewell
No explanations or questions,
Nor the hint of a tear in my eyes.
- - -

1979(c)Vilma Vitanza
Albany, CA
Vilma Vitanza Apr 2016
Here people stroll,
Wars rage in other lands.
---How blind are humans.
---

9/17/2008(c)Vilma Vitanza
Vilma Vitanza Apr 2016
What have I done with my life?
What am I doing with my life now?
What do I want to do with what remains of it?
What have I done with my life?  
I haven't done a thing to change the world.
I haven't brought communities together---I didn't even try.
What have I done with my life?  I haven't fought corruption,
I have't stopped the wars.  I haven't helped the homeless
And those who have much less than I.
What have I done with my life?  I haven't cleaned the oceans
Of the garbage that we dump.  I haven't cleaned the air that we breathe.
What have I done with my life?  All I can say is that I have loved.
I have loved the earth, the trees, and all the living things.  
I have loved my family, my friends, and the lovers that I've had.
What do I want to do with the rest of my life?
Is it hours I have left?  Is it days? Is it weeks, or months, or years
That I carry on my back?  I do not know.
But I know my heart will help me find the way
As I walk on this tightrope.
I shall try to listen better, and shall try to use fewer words;
I cannot change the world
For I am just a speck of dust in the great landscape of our planet.
In the meantime I'll continue to be me.
I'll continue to love you through the remaining of my life.

09/16/2015(c)Vilma Vitanza
Oakland, CA
Vilma Vitanza Apr 2016
When I die my soul shall then
Become the air that you breathe,
The water that will make the grasses green,
The music that on earth I never wrote.
- - -

1979.(c)Vilma Vitanza
Albany, CA
Vilma Vitanza Apr 2016
Is our presence on Earth an illusion created by the mind?
If we lived on a different planet
Would we be the same creatures that we are:
Accumulating material things,
Starting wars to satisfy the need for power, or for greed?
If Universal Mind switched our illusion for yet another one,
What then?

^ ^ ^

2009(c)Vilma Vitanza
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2022
no, today it wasn't Danielle, it was... Denise... she's the cousin of Mona... Mona is away in Romania... this plump plum of a beauty... i've been with pretty much all of them... i'll be running out of girls to **** in this brothel... i'll need to find myself a new one... today it was Denise... my god... love at first sight... ol' raven hair very much in the vein of Khadra... eh... Turkish, Romanian, Turkish-Romanian, Romanian-Turkish... she told me she had gypsy blood in her... my god... i go: WILD when it comes to Roma girls... i don't understand ******... why he figured: only the steel-blue-eyed blondes are the best thing going... well... they are... if you start diluting black boy genes with white blonde girls... i look at black men and don't have to wonder why white girls might find them attractive... it's a bit of a shame that i don't find black women as attractive as white women finding black men attractive... call me crazy but it's nearly impossible for me to find an attractive black girl: attractive i.e. to my liking... but i understand the interracial aspect of white girls... i need some dilution... after a second generation of interracial breeding either white or black will pop out... but second generation? what neo-Egyptian copper-necks are... very curious... so it was Denise the Gypsy today... it was Marie the other day when i was underperforming... Louise, Sandra...**** knows: it might as well have been a Casandra... i don't care...

some men put forward the question: is the lemon worth
the squeeze?
oh my god... is it?! Denise was your typical woman...
some parts of her body better than the others...
just like your atypical man...
her ******* were sagging... tiny little creatures...
but her ***?
once a year i admire horses... the assess of horses:
just before the Grand National...
that *** turned me on like a blonde *******
a Hindu doing that: ******* in light-bulbs dance...
oh hell yes...
the lemon is definitely worth the squeeze...
any Roman ******* the "menu" is me being brain-frozen
or are least brain-fried...
there's nothing better than coming from a shift
having stopped over at a brothel for a good ****...
you relax... you: sigh you ah!
mind you... it was a stressful shift at the Wembley
stadium today...
i had to intervene with these 40+ year old "dudes"
picking a fight with these idiotic 16 years olds...
i was thrown in the middle of the confrontation...
the 40+ year olds were adamant: these 16 year old colts
should have been standing on the fifth level!
yeah: and they should be drinking when underage...
help us help us! they're putting us in choke-holds...
help help!
fear is wild-eyed... one of my fellow stewards almost
had his fingers dislocated trying to break
up one of these skins trying to choke a colt to death...
screaming: i'm going to ******* **** you...
technically i'm not supposed to touch anyone
but i had to step in and calm everyone the **** down...
it's hardly a massive hard-on on my behalf trying
to intervene... but when you have to...
you take the colts to one side... protect them by "hugging"
them to the side... while talking to the skins
making a big ******* fuss...
luckily no one was hurt...
well... to an extent...
but i don't need that sort of stress...
i knew i had to decompress...
i travelled home (well, to the brothel first) with a bunch
of fuckless and faceless men...
me? i have no moral obligations: what comes,
is the same as what goes...
but i was stressed out...
by A. today's shift and by
B. my previous performance at the brothel...
i hate under-performing...
i was missing at least one of my aphrodisiacs,
i.e. tiredness... i need that more than anything...
i was coming from home and i drank
a little bit too much cider...
that's another aphrodisiac of mine...
perhaps i don't know my self (reflective)
all too well but i do know myself (reflexive)...
i.e. my body... i know what turns me off and what turns
me off...
KLEKS-KAKASHKA... a **** that's also a little ****
that's stored in my **** for an entire day...
to have *** i need to be completely emptied...
i need to **** anything remnant,
i need to **** the last remaining ****-flinging ****
out of me...

oh but there's nothing better than finishing a shift...
stopping over at the brothel...
getting your brains minced and listening to
the echoes of your footsteps at 3am...
the foxes are roaming: you just ****** Gypsy queen
of the underworld...
i realised something...
upon encountering regular ***...
i really... i really just need to have a regular access
to food... drink... a shower....
so i can pamper myself...
hmm... seeing pointless male drama of emotion
surrounding sporting events: intervening in them...
and regular ***... oh... *** is part of a necessary
existential diet... you can't live without it...
maybe that's why i try to limit my interests...
there's one video game i play...
but it's an online multiplayer game so...
since i abandoned PS1 narrative games...
Tenchu... Final Fantasy VII... Metal Gear Solid...
i'm rather fond on this: waiting for an interaction
gaming dynamic... i wouldn't pick up chess
even if you asked me: pretty please...

but a great **** requires me to write this little snippet
and then roll myself a DOOBIE...
a spliff... after a great **** like that i "fear" it's necessary
to smoke some marijuana...
come on... a Roma girl?! ol' Raven hair?!
saggy ****... but an *** like a cross between
an orange and a plum...
love at first sight...
i like women who feel it necessary to moan while
performing oral ***...
and this one was different...
her cousin liked to perform with her eyes closed...
Khadra wanted to perform with her eyes open
and looking into mine...
Denise kept looking into the mirror...

i wasn't trying to perform... not after last time:
under-performing... my mind was swallowed up by
a giant squid of irritabilities...
i went limp... *** is complicated...
but imitation ******* allowed me to sweat ol' Marie out...
Gypsy love... Bizet...
i finished early because i ******* felt like it was
necessary and we just sort of lay there...
caressing each other before one of us pretended more
than the other to fall asleep...

what, a, beau! i seriously don't think there's anything
necessary for man to appreciate beside
good food, shelter, and a good *******...
ah... but this one didn't give up her lips up so easily:
she didn't! cheeks! jawbone... eyelids and ears...
but not her lips... well... some women just need more
convincing than others...
i'll steal her lips the next time i see her...
i don't need anything more!
i'm rather content...
as we parted two girls were already in bathrobes
saying: bye bye while i kissed Denise on the cheek...
well yeah: bye bye...

the lemon is most certainly worth the squeeze...
but... as a man...
you really have to have very limited interests to
have an interest in women...
you can't be a comic book guy...
you can't exactly enjoy movies... apart from
the Godfather Part I... you can't...

hmm... women....
  what a splinter sub-cell of curiosities...
esp. if she's the one initiating tenderness...
akin to: don't kiss me on my lips...
just my entire face...
i did that "little " quirk of pretending my
index finger were the holy trinity:
of: hour by the count of the father,
minute by the count of the son...
and holy spirit by the count of the second...

the pains and aches of a ginger...
not exactly a Roma gypsy "queen" of: pristine ***
and: hmm... um um ums' ...

over the years i've built a strange lactose intolerance...
yesterday was a pristine day:
a shift at Wembley getting into a scuffle
trying to break up these bulks of men
in their 40s trying to choke to death these group
of colts... i was in a sniffing's worth of distance
seeing it first hand: how football makes people
truly irrational... as he was choking the poor
boy he was screaming: i'm going to **** you...
obviously i had to intervene...
one of my colleagues also got involved...
almost had one of his fingers dislocated as
we tried to calm the situation down...
break up the feud...

technically i'm not licensed to touch members
of the public, to rough them up...
thankfully i have acquired pretty good talking skills
with a good enough language of the body...
i inserted my hand between the two feuding parties
and separated them: the older guys started talking
with excuses about how they brought their own
children: one was a football coach for the young
blah blah this... all because the younglings protested
when asked to sit down...
they were clearly obstructing the view of the game
of the people sitting behind them...
as young boys do... they started their hysterical fits
about how the world ought to be X
and how people : esp. in relation to older men
they ought to be treated in an Y sort of way...
i had a burning thought in my head:
pooh-bear... that's not how the world works...
i grabbed this other boy trying to get him to calm down...
i put my arm around him and led him away...
again: we were supposed to get some support
from licensed SIA security guards...
we didn't get the response team we need
but we managed to somehow calm everyone the **** down...
but... i felt stressed...

thankfully she was there to do just that...
prior to i hovered around the brothel...
tweaking my body for some casual *** with a stranger...
i know my body well enough to know what
makes me perform *** and what doesn't...
i need about three aphrodisiacs...
tiredness from working...
i need to smoke a few cigarettes...
and i need to drink at least 6 units of alcohol...
that's either one strong dry cider... 500ml at 8.2%
and then two sips of whiskey...
or 500ml of 4.5% of a sweeter cider and 4 glugs
of a whiskey...
and i need to clear my head...
anything more and i need to ****: i get a ****-block...
the last time i got a ****-block it was because
i didn't measure my chemistry tools properly and
Khadra was there and i didn't choose her
and i heard her walk into the next room with another
client and i didn't hear much pleasure exuding
from her *******... no wonder i switched off...
but nothing equivalent to anger could have gripped
me from under-performing...
i performed in a different way...
after all... i did manage to get her sweating all over
her body as i sat on the edge of the bed
and she sat on top of me and she enjoyed the music
of my choice: whirling her pelvis in what's
imitation ***...

i'm only writing this because i know what under-perfoming
during *** feels like...
it's a lot different when you don't over-think it...
i know how that too much exposure to *******
can create a sensation during *******
where you don't actually realise that you're
the protagonist and not a ******...
that much i know: you have to repeat to yourself:
this is me, having ***...
no... this is not me looking at someone having ***...
this is me, having ***...

and i have to admit... i landed my zenith of "fetishes":
a Romanian gypsy girl...
she said so herself...
                        maybe that's another thing...
whether looking at pornographic movie materials:
always with the sound off...
some of the classical Italian stuff is dubbed anyway
by voice actors... so it makes little difference...

its a bit like the reverse of what happened to
Vilma Banky, Mae Murray and Norma Talmadge,
i.e. the actresses who didn't make the transition
from the classic Hollywood silent movies
to talkies...
                    with ******* it was sort of reversed:
in classical ******* from Italy and France...
you had to have vocal actors impersonating
the onomatopoeias of moaning from the seen actors...
who continued their careers...

after all: i did start in the classical sense of buying
magazines of **** women at an early age...
most of the guys were already sifting through
free online material... i thought it would be necessary
to actually find that void of "shame"
and share the grey-area of sexuality of what's
a purchase of a magazine... no *******...
take any Walter Sickert ****, for example: as comparison...

only today i felt the consequence of such a fulfilling day,
whoever tells you that *** is not important
is lying... not when you have it on a regular basis...
you finish a shift from 2pm through to 11pm...
you buy your aphrodisiacs already carrying one
in the form of tiredness... you mentally prepare yourself
to not get a limp **** during the act...
you take to the back alleys and try to fuse yourself
with the shadow and the night...
you walk up to two chicken shop workers having
finished shift... one of them looks at you
and tries to appease you because you look intimidating
enough: while carrying two pizzas he turns
around startled and asks: would you like a slice of pizza?
and you, in your most friendly voice reply:
no, no thank you mate... but thank you...
why? you don't want to have a full stomach when
having ***... you want to be hungry...

something else was added to my ritual...
i told myself once that i would never go back to smoking
marijuana...
well... things changed when the Queen died
on the 8th of September when i went to the brothel
and met an Afghan "Jamie"... who gave me a decent worth
of bud... would it be the same quality as in
Amsterdam? i did wonder...
lucky for me i performed that night...
i was drinking on the way back...
then rolled myself a joint...

   i went to bed and in my mind: i was glowing...
my heart was something abstract with no relationship
to the science of cardio medicine...
i felt this emptiness of release in my chest...
there was no heartbeat... just a heart turned mouth agape:
sieving through stars and the death of stars...
i suspected this for some time:
black holes, i.e. dead stars...
are 2 dimensional objects in an otherwise 3 dimensional
space... but you can hardly call the universe
a 3 dimensional space...
i've seen it simulated: in the original Tomb Raider
game on PS1... i used to stop Lara at the ferns...
those two dimensional ferns... 2 dimensional in
a 3 dimensional labyrinth... as you walked up to them
and started twisting the view... the ferns would twist...
turn... i imagine black holes to be like those ferns...
but... spinning really quick...
almost imitating the grandiosity of what was once
present... they are black "holes" but at the same time
they are hyper-anti-gravity of spinning
i think they are black orbs... not holes...
i think the whole idea that they are holes is wrong...
i think they are holograms that spin very quickly
since... well... does anything orbit them?
hence: they have to orbit around themselves...
The beautiful Vilma Banky instructed her lawyer to wait a full year before announcing her death. Moths are too powdery dry to eat without pudding. I'm medically fitted into a physical jersey quizzically knitted. Tiger & Kitty...Tiger Woods is rich. Kitty Forest is poor. Tiger is chemically dependent on prescribed medicine. Kitty is a *****. Tiger goes to rehabilitation. Kitty goes to prison. Prisoners are imprisoned. Prisoners are captives. Prisoners are not free. Walmart's doughnuts are not free.

— The End —