Michal's debating the feasibility of augmenting his unheroic Fiction Corpus with a treatise on classic science fiction; cites fatigue
Posted:
I don't question the practicality of implementing English as the international community's second language. I do doubt the unexceptional design by which English is taught.
Reenforcing a person's skillfulness with a language isn't like promoting a brighter pigment. A language - a spoken language - is not merely a tool that you can teach yourself to use with greater amounts of precision. A common language cannot be parted from the prevailing culture of a clan of people of which it is a description. A language isn't recited; it happens - and keeps happening as long as a circle of people keeps using it.
Teaching pupils to recite English is to strip them of its cultural context. A good instructor must find a way to introduce it; the wisest student goes out to seek it.
A dictionary can be an influential tool. The best dictionaries describe words on the basis of a particular corpus, a set of written language of various size and consistency. A corpus can contain anything from a book about literature to some true stories. I burned many candles laboring on my "gigantic" Fiction Corpus to form a unique type of dictionary based on the ability of one man to tell a story in myriad forms. It is a labor of love and listening.
I have molded a million words and I have indexed them, reshaping them - not merely to teach an American tongue but to defend the human soul, and to encourage that spirit or soul not just to recite but to happen.
Author's Note: I have been enjoined from sharing the details of my true romance adventure until such time that the other party is prepared to present her perspective on the affair arrangement...
Four days after I arrived in Poland, the largely Catholic country was celebrating Corpus Christi, complete with solemn processions down the street. Three days later I had made a solemn vow that if given the chance to express it, I would show love to a woman I had only just met.
Call it an accident. Call it divine will. I was never supposed to meet Margo...if not for one man's random criminal act...another abuse piled upon humanity by a fellow human. A robbery. A purse-snatching of a purse that happened to contain a passport. An assault on the human body. One of society's bad habits that I had come to fight as an artist working for body acceptance.
Though I was born in Europe, I had been brought up from a young age in America, living in states as diverse as Nebraska, Ohio and Connecticut. I was taught American values and saw reality from an American perspective. She was born and raised in a village in Poland. She went to work in the nearest town. The nearest city seemed like the center of the world. The American perspective was not something she was ever planning to see.
6,000 miles. One car. One tent. We started learning how to listen. We started learning how to open up. We started cooperating. Even when we were angry, even when it was so difficult that it didn't seem like it would turn out well, we stuck it out. We completed the trip and we came back happy. We had beaten the devil on the road. Back home more devils were waiting to abuse us. More anger. More fear. More sadness. This time we were prepared. This time we had each other and we could harken back to the joy and the trust and the suprise that 6,000 miles had created. We could remember what it was like to live in one tent.
6,000 miles across Europe with a complete stranger
During our trip across Europe, Margo very bravely opened up to me and to the camera. It was a difficult thing to do considering the scars that she carries. I wanted to share with the world her often joyful, often sad, often angry but always liberating experience except that the Internet is full of pictures of naked women and men and full of trolls who abuse them.
I realized that what I really need to point out is not the openness that Margo and I cultivated between ourselves, but the darkness that continues to surround us. When I censor nudity, I do so in a way that does not compromise the integrity of the human body. In censoring the photographs that Margo and I took during our trip, I was quick to notice that in those pictures where Margo was at her most open, at her most unguarded and most relaxed, in a word, when she was herself and basking in the sun I was forced to blacken her completely.
Why does our society drive people into darkness? Why can we not accept ourselves as we are? Why can we not accept our bodies? Have we truly become eunuchs? Or are we capable of defying the sickness that pits us against each other? Together we could conquer the devils that abuse us.
Whether you enjoy being nude or not, whether you've been photographed nude or not, but especially if, for you, like for Margo, it's something you never thought you would do, consider submitting your own photograph to be published in a censored manner as a form of protest against the ubiquitous presence of the human body on the internet, naked or not, that is published and duplicated ad infinitum without context and without regard for the identity or the needs of the individual being depicted.
Michal's Dictionary: Understanding the words No Idea
A word can represent many things. First and foremost it represents a type of gesture. A specific way of speaking. A specific way of inscribing a mark. A specific way of moving your hand. To know one of these kinds of gestures is to know how to pronounce the words no idea in some kind of way.
If you want to communicate an idea using the words no idea, you will need to know what other people are made to think when you make the gesture. You will never have complete awareness of or control over the associations or identities that are invoked by a set of words, but you can know what was and what is a single word's jointly accepted definition, at least for a given place, thereby tracing a direction which will help you to understand what kinds of associations and identities are driving its use.
By using the word yourself, you enter into a long-standing albeit oftentimes unconscious debate over its definition, forever entangling yourself into the history of its use. The way you use it, and which other words you use it with carries weight.
The more you know about where the words no idea are located in the fabric of a language, the better you will be at exploiting their cultural power.
Pronunciation of No Idea
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the words "no idea."
Video of me pronouncing "no idea."
Definition of No Idea
The term no idea usually means an admission of one's own ignorance or a deferral of one's own seniority but it can also be used to guess at another's person's level of ignorance, from which point it is often fetishized to discount the entirety of another person's actions.
Common use of no idea in illustrative example sentences
I have yet to come up with a fourth sentence using the words "no idea."
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a fifth sentence using the words "no idea."
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a sixth sentence using the words "no idea."
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a seventh sentence using the words "no idea."
Audio of me saying the sentence:
Usage of No Idea in Michal's Fiction Corpus
Michal's Fiction Corpus of Acceptance Literature (FiCAL) is presented under the Bare Bottom imprint. It is currently comprised of six bodies of work, each representing a different pillar of culture and incorporating a wide variety of writhing styles.
I have yet to make a morphological analysis of the words "no idea."
That doesn't mean it's not high on my list.
Table of Frequency for the Words "No Idea."
This table lists in descending order the total number of times that the words "no idea" and any of their morphological derivations appear in the Fiction Corpus, along with a breakdown of frequency by title, the respective rank of each word or set of words in the complete list of all words in the Corpus, as calculated both densely and competitively, as well as the percent increase in frequency of the words over the frequency of the next lowest rank in the complete list.
Percent Increase over next rank
RANK
WORD
Frequency
TOTAL # of occurences
MCDONALDS
JESUS
SEX
TSIGA
JACKSON
DINGBATS
dense
competitive
modern/sloppy
biblical/terse
poetic/high-brow
hard/fast
talky
mixed salad
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
I have yet to publish the table of frequency for the words "no idea," but I will get to it shortly. -Michal
A story bible for a comic book series set in a post climate-change California narrated by eight characters who live through a natural disaster that sinks Los Angeles and triggers a war with an expansionist Mexican government covertly supported by China.
Frame #2163
its my pride. i blew a good lead cause i was angry at a girl. i shouldve sat. watched. waited. i have no idea now if shes telling the truth.
An experimental science fiction Christology that makes Jesus the hard boiled narrator of his own early years on a bizarro earth made dark by volcanic ash and informally ruled by a man from Mars who sells bottled air.
"They're trying to stop the terrorists from moving north; they don't care about the southeast that much - terrorists are all over the train yards - Lipski doesn't even know what to do about it. He's got terrorists in the southeast (around the train yards); he's got terrorists in the west (around all the industrial parks) - but at least they're south of the river; he's in the north, coming down; he's got his artillery on the north bank of the old river, on the other side of which, sections of Center City have been evacuated; others have not; some are full of terrorists; others are not. What's for damn sure is that south of us, across the main river, the Old Town is completely infested. Government buildings have been taken over, et cetera, et cetera. Lipski's got his hands full; he's got absolutely no idea what the fuck a terrorist even looks like. A collaborator could be anyone: if you're walking down the street with a gun, you're collaborating - you're not trying to defend yourself: you're collaborating. If you're looting a store, or robbing your neighbors, or otherwise committing some kind of offense: you're collaborating.
Jesus had no idea what kind of consequences this failure effected. His uncle hanged himself around that time, but there was no way of knowing how that were related - or whether it were only meant to look like a suicide. Jesus had his aunt moved to a safe location, and, as far as he knew, neither she nor her children were ever harmed. Jesus had no way of knowing whom or how many the Krupnik had informed about his identity, or, more importantly, his resources, which, considering the amount of duffel bags recovered from the basement, were, on the one hand, almost inexhaustible, but, considering the small size of his uncle's back room, were, on the other hand, quite meager - especially since Jesus was trying to conduct a private war.
If not for my belated quest for satisfaction, they might never have been found. I was more than determined to avenge my sister's death by destroying whatever it was that was waiting behind that back door. I had no idea that I was about to find the tools of that destruction, not its object.
When he was leaving the Commandant's house, Jesus noticed a black bitch: out of seven starving dogs, there was a black bitch with ribs poking out of her sides and three pendulous teats coming down from her meager breast. She was symbolic! "What a miserable state!" Jesus had said upon seeing that bitch, having absolutely no idea what great significance his words concealed.
A literature book narrated by a pair of siblings on either side of the Atlantic whose profoundly weird sexual experiences pose a serious challenge to their traditional understanding of mathematicians, marriage, gay young men and God.
When the lecture was over, I tried to think of a good question, but I couldn't think of one; my mind was too busy digesting. I wanted to exchange a few words with the scholar, but I couldn't think of what I would say, and there was no one there to introduce me. (Of course, I would've introduced myself - if I weren't so inhibited - but, as a painter, I have yet to be exhibited). So I stood around waiting, thinking to myself, not realizing that Christie had disappeared. After most of the people had left, I realized that Macy and I were still waiting; I had no idea why - since we had not said a single word to each other. "Macy," I said, "why are we waiting?" He looked confused for a moment, as if he couldn't remember, and then suddenly he said, "Christie went to the bathroom." I asked him when she had left and Macy was quite sure she had left immediately after the lecture - which was quite a long time ago.
ANDY: Because nobody can explain why it happens when it does. We've been looking at it for thousands of years, Olympia. And nobody knows why. We know exactly how it works: we know steam has to cool down. But we have no idea why it suddenly appears when it does. It's magic. But you wanna know a secret?
"He came right backstage and knocked on the dressing room door," Christie was explaining as we turned onto Pall Mall. "I thought he was just some guy who saw the show. I had no idea he was connected to the theatre; I had never met him before. He was just some creepy old man randomly asking me out on a date. He introduced himself of course, told me his name, but he certainly didn't tell me he owned the theatre. When he left I was like: 'who was that guy?' and everyone tells me, 'Christie: that guy owns the theatre.' Boy was I surprised. When you told me you'd be coming over this weekend, I knew I'd have to take you here.
You, on the other hand: you were still fishing around for that ball, and only after our father and our uncle came through the house with Albert did you finally come walking up that hill. I remember the moment distinctly: our father was joking that Albert being Hungarian, and Indiana being Romanian, we had the better part of the old Austrian empire assembled before us. Indiana began elaborating the joke, and, as she neared a punch line, you appeared, wet and out of breath, just in time to watch everyone heartily laugh - everyone but me and Indiana, of course. You had no idea what the joke was, and, as if searching for an explanation, you had to look around quickly, ignoring me (of course), before transfixing your eyes on the source of everyone's merriment.
A collection of stories featuring a sexy Parisian ghost, a spooky Moon base full of vagina-faced aliens, a policeman with an Irish name, a truck full of watermelons, a flautist, and a man who has to see another man about a diseased horse.
Tatum went back to her place. Neal pounced. "What's going on?"
The policeman was getting agitated. He wanted the money. Clark told him there would be no problem getting it. Shephard was reminded about the motorcycle. He assured the officer he would return it. The policeman frowned. "I have no idea what's going on here," he said. "I don't want to know. Just get me my money."
The truck arrived. Shephard wanted to put the motorcycle in the back. The bed was full of adult toys. "Sorry," said Coke. "You told me you only needed a tow."
The poor devil, crouching at the water's edge, his back to the beach and the waves lapping at his balls, had no idea what hit him. The dog, doubtlessly overjoyed to be out of retirement for the day, hit the man with such force that a slender plastic bag full of green little herbs dislodged itself from underneath the sign on its back.
"Cannabis!" yelled Patsy, running to the scene of the crime. "Cannabis!" he yelled, flailing all five limbs.
Uzumaki paused. He studied the woman's peeved expression. He said, "I have no idea, Ms. Read."
Tatum smirked. "I'll have to keep my receipts."
"Is that a yes?" The woman nodded. "Thank you. You'll be doing the entire lunar community a service." He motioned towards the door. "My secretary will take care of you."
A real play. With drama in it. Talk fast. It takes two hours. Set in a guest house. In a small community. After a murder. Lots of suspicion. The characters learn to listen to each other. It's funny.
LUKE: (to ALICE) I have no idea.
MS. JACKSON: I was wrong to bring her here. I exposed her to my husband's lust. I knew it would happen; I wanted it. I wanted to see her crushed. I wanted the pain inflicted on me to be passed upon another. I apologize. It was wrong of me to want that. Lord, save Kokomo from this awful scourge. I beg of you. Don't let her live like this in shame. Don't let this sodomy continue!
LUKE: Sheila.
ALICE: Did you hear that?
LUKE: If you had to do something wrong to do something right, you would do it. Say I had to bail blokes up 'cause they were all crook in the head; that'd be bloody beaut - if I had to do it.
ALICE: What are you talking about?
LUKE: Do you know what Kokomo is trying to do?
ALICE: Yes.
LUKE: You do?
ALICE: We just talked about it.
– ACT I, lines 1052-1061
MS. JACKSON: I have something to confess.
GREY GOOSE: Go on.
MS. JACKSON: I lied to you.
GREY GOOSE: You lied to me?
MS. JACKSON: Earlier today: when I told you it wasn't me.
GREY GOOSE: It wasn't you that did what?
MS. JACKSON: I gave your name to the police. It was so stupid. I was afraid of you for no reason. I was foolish. I was emotional. I was a coward. Perhaps I even did it for revenge - I don't know. I have no idea why I did it.
GREY GOOSE: It was instinct, woman.
MS. JACKSON: My instinct failed me. Grey Goose, I can't believe it. I'm so sorry. Forgive me.
GREY GOOSE: I forgive you.
– ACT II, lines 481-490
FLETCHER: No.
ALICE: It was at the bottom of my bag.
FLETCHER: What?
ALICE: They actually searched it at the airport.
FLETCHER: No.
ALICE: They didn't find it.
FLETCHER: What?
ALICE: I had no idea it was there.
FLETCHER: No.
ALICE: Can you imagine the shock I felt when I saw it?
– ACT II, lines 131-140
ALICE: Did somebody die?
FLETCHER: Don't ask.
ALICE: Yes.
FLETCHER: Even if your husband had died?
ALICE: It would.
FLETCHER: I've been wanting to confess this for so long. The island makes it hard. Who would have understood me if I had spoken? My mother? I pay my penance every time I hear her cry. She has no idea what part I played in that fire. I can't help feeling that, if I had stopped it, this family would never have had the problems it's had. Nobody died in that fire except for me. It was my own soul burning. As far as the house is concerned, restitution's been made. As for me, who would not find my weakness and ignore it? for the sake of convenience if not for shame. Who would restore my strength from the ashes?
ALICE: Let it be me. I will restore you.
FLETCHER: This is why I've been pursuing you. I knew you'd never give in to me. I saw your strength the moment you arrived: its grace: its beauty. I fell in love with it. I desired it - not for myself, but for its ability to release me from this guilt.
ALICE: Let me release you, Fletcher Christian. I will make you whole again.
FLETCHER: You will forgive me my crime?
– ACT II, lines 184-193
FLETCHER: I lost my virginity to a married woman. Her husband was abroad - had been for several months. She did plan on joining him, but she loved sex - she admitted it - more than she loved her husband. Then again, I didn't really know the man. Maybe he was the same way. Maybe he was a scoundrel. Some women are just crazy. I was doing work on her balcony at the time. She would undress in front of me through the window. She even let me watch her masturbate. I was around eighteen years old. She was forty. I had no idea what to do. I couldn't do anything, anyway. I was surrounded by my crewmates. When we finished, we packed up and we left. I didn't see her for several weeks. In due course, we bumped into each other at one of the local pubs. She asked me how I was doing. I told her I was fine. I bought her a few drinks. She asked me to take her home. I did. On her front porch, as she was removing her keys from her pocket, she dropped something.
ALICE: A condom.
FLETCHER: How did you know?
ALICE: I guessed.
FLETCHER: Is that something you've done?
ALICE: I've never done it. I assume, if you want to get your point across, that's the most powerful way.
FLETCHER: It's true. I couldn't help myself. I had to go up to her room.
ALICE: Did you like it?
FLETCHER: I loved it - as it was happening. When we were finished, I felt as dirty as a pig. She wanted me to come every Wednesday afternoon like clockwork.
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
Adam was the Patroclus to Steve O's Achilles. In more ways than Steve O realized. A fellow classmate and womanizer had asked Steve O to his face one day, "You know that guy's gay, right?" Steve O had been incredulous. With the image of Adam and the redhead scarred into his mind, he adamantly defended his friend's womanizing skills. "You have no idea what you're talking about," Steve O had said, viscerally upset.
I discovered a beautiful pavilion. Completely abandoned. Pristine toilet followed pristine toilet. I commenced spewing all over. Grunting and panting through the intervals. I shat half my body weight before I heard somebody come inside. This person was going from toilet to toilet. Opening every door. I was afraid my gut wasn't the only thing about to be liquidated. My unseen nemesis banged on my stall. I calmly ignored it. I dispensed half a roll of paper. I cleaned everything up. I don't remember if I flushed. When I opened the door the largest woman I have ever seen snarled at me and started shouting. I have no idea what she was saying. It sounded like a lot. She followed me out of the pavilion and halfway back to the stadium. I was sure if I didn't lose myself in the crowd she would find me and have me killed. That was the end of my trip.
Sir Lewis walked down the marbled hall with head held high. A sense of incipient triumph wafted between smells of old paper posters and crusty deli sandwiches and stale cookies munched on by bejacketed professors and parents out for an open house weekend. The poor fools had no idea a champion marched amongst them.
The orbits of Captain Orbitz as told and retold by trillions of Orion systemizens, indeed systemizens from across many a galaxy, never fluctuated from their purpose of helping Captain Tycho "Tych" Orbitz conquer his home galaxy. Tych was firm from the day he resigned his commision as a courier in the Star Alliance to the day he vanished into space. Many were afraid he would come back. Many more hoped he would. They thought he was out pirating somewhere with Lalunia, his pheromonically irresistible great-great-great-great-niece, or ruling a planet with the beautifully blue Sara Lee, or fighting the jilted queen of the Astrazeneca or playing chess with CAROline the computer that loved him. They didn't know he was dead. They had no idea he had died long before he had even resigned his commission. Before he hijacked the tesseract marking the beginning of his rebellion or piloted the stolen ship Nautilus into the singularity the man had physically removed his own dead body from the bridge. He had no choice. At the time the ship was scheduled to be inspected by Star Alliance sanitation officers.
I drove all the way to the beach to find relief. It took hours to get there. I stumbled into the woman's bar by accident. I knew it was around. I heard girls talking about it. I never thought I'd go. I assumed it was a waste of time. I was right. I didn't hook up with anybody. I tried to make conversation a few times. It didn't work. On my way home I got lost. I was so angry. When I saw the sign for the camping ground I had no idea it was for queers. I stopped to ask for directions.
This table lists in descending order of frequency a selection of text strings that appear in the Fiction Corpus and groups them according to the morphological derivation of the words no idea that appears in the string.
Type
WORD
Frequency
TOTAL # of occurences
MCDONALDS
JESUS
SEX
TSIGA
JACKSON
DINGBATS
modern/sloppy
biblical/terse
poetic/high-brow
hard/fast
talky
mixed salad
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
I have yet to perform a collocation analysis of "no idea." I hope I can get it done sometime soon. -Michal
St. Sebastian was a member of the Roman Emperor's praetorian guard who had the audacity to teach Christian values while on the job. I think active duty American military men and women who don't vote or who don't publicly express a political opinion because of the uniform are either being idiotic or are being cowed by the threat of punishment from a superior. Either way, they're eunuchs. My purpose in creating the St. Sebastian Series is to put the flesh and face of the true soldier front and center. The good soldier puts his mission ahead of himself. He often ends up dead. The true soldier knows a bad mission when he sees one and he isn't afraid to say it. Saint Sebastian was not a cow, despite what clever people would have you believe. Saint Sebastian is a patron saint for all protestors who face the arrows of the mob for speaking out.
Help support the "No Idea" page up and running...
If you love women and art...
Michal is exporting Polish art...is he bats?
Michal's Sales Pitch Lot 1: Silesian Handicrafts
T-shirt fundraiser for sale
Last T-Shirt with the logo that I designed.
From a set of, I believe, twenty produced by Margo and given out to a portion of the last 20 women to finish the 20th anniversary Fiat Road Race in Bielsko-Biała, cf. the movie. This is the last one left in it's original packaging and my supporters - like the poor women of Bielsko - are going to have to fight for it. Whoever invests the most money with me, and who lets me borrow it to invest in the next lot, will not only be rewarded with some beautiful piece of art, but will get this priceless t-shirt as a reward for being my top supporter. $1000.00 or best offer. Remember to authorize me to hold the sum as credit against a future purchase and to authorize me to borrow against it.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #1 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Felt handbag for sale
Felt bag by Dorota.
Entirely hand-sewn. Base: polyester felt, 100% PE. Motif: South American woolen yarn, dyed, 100% wool. Hand-worked with a needle. Unique and inimitable design. Inside: cotton fabric, closes with zipper, inside pocket. Available now for $220.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #2 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Decorative collar for sale
Decorative collar by Zuzanna.
Ethnic layered cloth jewelry constructed on a cotton base and adorned with ribbons, tassels, and a yellow fringe. Fastened on the side with 11 buttons, fitted entirely with a pleasant lining. The style is an Indo-Asian-African multinational color combination. The collar is very extravagant and an extraordinary addition to any clothing, guaranteed to attract attention. Just a simple dress and a unique image is ready. Dry-cleaning recommended. Available now for $200.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #3 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Seamless handbag for sale
Handbag by Sylwia.
Handmade from felted all-natural Australian and South American wool. Entirely felted, seamless. Finished with a white lining, inside is a small pocket. Lining is sewn and stitched in by hand. Available now for $180.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #4 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Patchwork quilt for sale
Patchwork quilt by Alicja.
Bedspread made of cotton and polyester material. Inserted with polyester lining. 90 by 70 cm. Available now for $120.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #5 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Nuno-felt shawl for sale
Shawl by Sylwia.
Scarf made with the nuno felting technique (wet felting fibre into a silk gauze) using South American wool. Two-sided scarf with latticework at the ends. Wholly in the colors red, black, green in an abstract pattern. Available now for $100.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #6 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Clara the doll for sale
Clara by Alicja.
Clara loves roses and greenery, adores tormenting spiders with long legs and sleeping soundly in the afternoon. Cuddly toy made of cotton and polyester, stuffed with polyester lining. Available now for $70.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #7 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Noah the doll for sale
Noah by Alicja.
Noah doesn't know what to like and what not to like but keeps wondering and thinking about it. Cuddly toy made of cotton and polyester, stuffed with polyester lining. Available now for $70.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #8 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Black suspenders for sale
Black suspenders by Zuzanna.
Two-sided suspenders from black material with a rose motif on one side and striped cotton on the other. Connected by a leather triangle. Adjustable length. Hand washing in cold water recommended. Available now for $50.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #9 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Orange suspenders for sale
Orange suspenders by Zuzanna.
Two-sided suspenders made of denim and orange material with a Polish floral folk design. Connected by a leather triangle. Adjustable length. Hand washing in cold water recommended. Available now for $50.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #10 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Green suspenders for sale
Green suspenders by Zuzanna.
Two-sided suspenders made of denim and green material with a mountain folk design. Connected by a leather triangle. Adjustable length. Hand washing in cold water recommended. Available now for $50.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #11 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Felt earrings for sale
Felt earrings by Dorota.
Material: South American woolen yarn, dyed, 100% wool. Hand-worked with a needle. Pendant of anti-allergenic metal. Available now for $40.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #12 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Round ceramic earrings for sale
Round ceramic earrings by Dorota.
Material: Glazed ceramics, hand-molded. Available now for $40.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #13 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Oblong ceramic earrings for sale
Oblong ceramic earrings by Dorota.
Material: Glazed ceramics, hand-molded. Available now for $40.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #14 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
'Coral' necklace for sale
Corals by Sylwia.
Necklace made of cotton pieces with organdy and decorated with beads, suspended on cotton strings. Can be worn as a necklace, as a brooch or as a belt tied at the side. Available now for $40.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #15 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.