Michal is mulling over the viability of augmenting his unprepossessing Fiction Corpus with a history of educational reform; cites fatigue
Posted:
I don't question the potency of promulgating English as the world's second language. I don't accept the spiritless strategy by which English is taught.
Enhancing one's intimacy with a language isn't like introducing a stronger crank. A language - a common language - is not merely an instrument that you can learn to employ with greater amounts of precision. A common language cannot be fractured from the shared logic of a recognized nation 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 a student to recite English is to strip her of its cultural context. A capable educator must create a strategy for introducing it; the smartest student ventures out to seek it.
A dictionary can be an influential tool. A decent dictionary will describe words on the basis of a specific corpus, a set of written works of various size and consistency. A corpus might contain everything from a book about literature to a bunch of romance fiction books. I lost many a night laboring on my "supersized" Fiction Corpus to form a special genre 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 drawn up a million words and I have ordered them, reshaping them - not simply to teach an American tongue but to be an advocate for the human spirit, and to pressure that soul or spirit 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...
Lots of people go on road trips. Not everybody criss-crosses Europe in 46 days. Especially not with a complete stranger.
As an artist, from the beginning of my adult career, my work had been devoted to the problem of body acceptance, a goal that I would later learn was shared by a whole community of people called naturists, a humble portion of which I discovered residing in Poland, a country whose cultural conservatism does not lend itself readily to forward thinking. One of those forward-thinking Polish naturists happened to be Margo.
From America I brought with me the American can-do spirit. She saw the car that I had bought, the terrible camp stove I had borrowed, and my sundry canned goods and challenged me to make-do. In my optimism I assured her that if we lacked for anything I would make up the difference. She assured me that if she lacked for anything she would find her way to the nearest airport and fly home. Luckily that never happened.
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 word Bag
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 word bag in some kind of way.
If you want to communicate an idea using the word bag, 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 word bag is located in the fabric of a language, the better you will be at exploiting its cultural power.
Pronunciation of Bag
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the word bag.
Video of me pronouncing "bag."
Definition of Bag
I have yet to publish the definition of bag.
I'm sure it won't take too long.
Common use of bag in illustrative example sentences
I have yet to come up with a third sentence using the word bag.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a fourth sentence using the word bag.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a fifth sentence using the word bag.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a sixth sentence using the word bag.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a seventh sentence using the word bag.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
Usage of Bag 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 word bag.
That doesn't mean it's not high on my list.
Table of Frequency for the Word "Bag."
This table lists in descending order the total number of times that the word bagand any of its morphological derivations appears in the Fiction Corpus, along with a breakdown of frequency by title, the respective rank of each word 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 word 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 word bag, 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 #4654
jayce didnt grab target for money. she grabbed him for information. she wants the truth behind her lying scumbag whore girlfriend.
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.
"Yes," he said. "That's the bag in which I sold heroin to a Krupnik. 'Just a little bit for the road,' his future brother-in-law had said. 'I thought you don't sniff,' I said. 'When I'm like this,' he said, 'I can do anything.'"
"Goddamn estate! Trinkets, trifles, and baubles piled in heaps all over the place! Things they took from the garbage! I tried to vacuum their carpets - you know what they gave me to use? A vacuum cleaner they took from the dump! I wanted to wash Andrew's dirty shirts - they do their laundry twice a year: in spring and fall. He gave me an open bin with a rotor. 'That's the best kind,' he said. 'It's a washing machine for the field.' It's a washing machine he took from the dump: they haven't sold those for forty years - it's Russian crap! The agitator tore everything apart. I told him, 'Andrew, get yourself a wife!' But who's going to marry a fifty year old with five teeth? He never had time to go to the dentist. And why?"
Going back, I found yet another strange and delightful specimen: the boletus luteus, the mud-colored mushroom: the unctuous borowik. There was not one, but two sticky brown pilei - two stems connected to one foot. I put them (or it) into my bag, next to the Cossack.
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.
Is it a person's right to participate simply because the participants receive privileges? There is something perplexing about that. It's also strange that the court interprets the protection of the traditional family as equivalent to actively increasing the number of people who choose to belong to such families, and that because the state cannot prove it could increase those numbers, it has no rational reason to protect that tradition. Can you figure that one out? I urge you to read the argument: perhaps you can decipher some sensibility in all that garbage.
Nike will find, I'm afraid, that someday he'll be shocked by happiness; he will discover that most precious gem, that perfect construction of existence, hiding behind the curtains of the window or peeking out from under the radiator, on the top shelf in the walk-in closet, in the basement, under the boxes of not-to-be-thrown-away garbage, or shrouded behind cobwebs, next to the boiler.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 1, Cancer, Paragraph 1, Clause 1
BERT: Oh, he was crazy, just crazy - lived out of a bag: did nothing but travel from house to house visiting mathematicians. I believe his motto was something like, 'another roof, another proof.' But he said a lot of funny things. His favorite word was 'fascist.' He applied it to anything that annoyed him. And he would call everything fascist, indiscriminately, because anything could annoy him - except math. That's what he lived for: mathematics and nothing else. He would spend seventeen hours a day on math - didn't care about food, sex, family, nothing. Sexual pleasure annoyed him. And do you know what he called you if you were married?
But these were more familiar garments: I recognized one of Macy's old T-shirts, one of my favorites, very colorful but tasteful, very tasteful. I had not seen him wear it in years, so many long years, and I imagined a younger Macy wearing it once again. I smiled, and looking around the room, the clutter no longer seemed like clutter. It was Macy: the evidence of his existence. It was his clothing in the bag, his old papers stacked in piles around the room. They were his books, his quarters, his dimes and nickels that were scattered across the desk. It was his pile of pennies that lay separate. It was his bed in the corner, his sheets that were ruffled, his comforter, his blankets falling off the edge.
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.
"A Bantu woman," thought Junior, "in my company. She must be worthwhile." He checked the department listing. She was a secretary for Ann Taylor. That was going to be a problem. Ann was the most successful woman in the history of the company. She worked for the general commercial manager, Randall G. Fitzwater III.
Junior tried looking through the company's personnel files. He wanted somebody young, experienced, with a mature sensibility and a drive to explore new things, which for Junior meant the possibility of settling down. Federal tax exemptions and social security numbers did not provide as much insight as he had hoped. The names were nothing special.
"It's horrible. It resembles a suitcase. The corners are sharp. The strap is short. If it weren't black, you could mistake it for a carpetbag, the kind that looks like a pot of dead hibiscus. Imagine trying to lug that thing around."
"I would use it like a tote bag," said Nyota. "I would put my groceries in it. I might start a fashion trend."
While Junior was on his back, chin-deep in green, Purse carefully took the club from Sammy D's hands. He spread his lips the way a caddy parts the fabric of a headcover sock. He pushed all the way down.
"My God," said Junior. "Sammy D, how do you do that?"
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.
GREY GOOSE: Let's face it. I'm as old as a carburetor and half as useful. Throw me out with the rest of the garbage. I don't care - as long as you let me waft through here on occasion.
FLETCHER: Don't let Mother see you.
GREY GOOSE: I won't.
FLETCHER: Don't let her smell you either.
GREY GOOSE: Prick.
FLETCHER: Old fart.
– ACT I, lines 1287-1292
MS. JACKSON: What about my heirloom?
GREY GOOSE: What heirloom?
MS. JACKSON: The one you stole.
GREY GOOSE: I didn't steal anything.
MS. JACKSON: Don't lie to me.
GREY GOOSE: I didn't.
LESBIAN: I did. I packed it away in my bag. I have two tickets for tonight's flight: one for me and one for you. Come. We'll explore the world as your ancestors did: the English and the Polynesians. They went from west to east; we'll go from east to west. We'll show the lost and the lovelorn what true devotion means. We'll scale Victory Peak in China. We'll sail the Punjab. We'll get lost in Gargas Cave. We'll bathe in the hot springs beneath Mount Hekla. We'll catch a Broadway show. We'll do some shopping at Shinjuku Station. We'll do anything your heart desires. All you have to do is liberate yourself. Let your passions run free. Someday we'll return to your native land. It won't ever be the same again. Nevermore will you be shamed. Woman, you'll have made the entire world yours.
MS. JACKSON: Nameless Pain! How am I to deny a penitent husband - newly birthed in remorse, in truth, in love, and desirous of similar gifts from me, his lawfully wedded wife, who, for so long, and with so many tears, kept watch over this heretofore seemingly endless and vain gestation - yet relish this sudden appearance of life: this infant curiosity: this foundling whose love demands more than my adoption could ever give? Oh, Homo: a thousand hearts couldn't beat as strongly as you have made mine beat. This is my home. I can no sooner leave it than change my body for that of a man. The world is yours; go out there and take it. Please leave me in peace. I beg you.
LESBIAN: I'll go. Though it pains me more than female circumcision, I'll go. I'll go because I love you.
– ACT II, lines 357-365
(LESBIAN exits.)
LUKE: Speakin' of leaving, I'd just like to say that it's been a pleasure staying here with you all. As much as I'd like to stay longer - ingestin' your wonderful fish, Kokomo, and imbibin' your wonderful grog, Master Grey Goose, et cet'ra, et cet'ra - as me manager would say, duty calls. Mistress Jackson, Fletch, Grey Goose, Kokomo: it's been real nice. Nevertheless, me and the Mrs. have to be going. I'll leave you the check on me way out - right after I pack me bags.
– ACT II, lines 366-366
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 exits.)
KOKOMO: Yet again, I'm left holding the wet, dirty towels. Not to worry. It's alright. I don't mind. In truth, if I could spend the rest of my life cleaning up after Fletcher Christian, I would be a very happy woman. Even if that is silly and backwards, that's how I feel. I would never phrase it like that to anybody; I'm not crazy. I'd make him take out the garbage and all that. Alice is right. It's high time I told him how much he makes my heart beat. I could turn it into a joke if it looks like he's uncomfortable. That would be dreadful. What kind of a joke would it be? I need a heart transplant? That's not funny. What am I going to do?
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
I learned later that the headman of the village had asked that I be replaced. He had claimed to the Ministry that I was crazy. That I talked to myself. That all the parents in the village were afraid to leave their children with me. I proved him wrong. If not for Putin and my three pupils, I would've been packing my bags for Moscow that very weekend. I would have lived in the village for all of two weeks instead of almost twenty years. I would never have stayed to teach a community of children how to grow up. I would never have married a local Russian girl. I would never have become the village headman. I would never have run for mayor.
Indiana's mouth moved as much as ever. "I only drink green tea," she mentioned. "What do you think of those triangular tea bags? I don't think they make a difference. The problem is the size of the leaves. They chop them into tiny pieces. How do they not lose flavor? You need to chop them to a medium size, if you're going to chop at all. I use whole leaves. I put them into a sieve. I pour the water into the sieve. That's how I do it. Isn't that the better way? Tea is good for you - not if it's too black. I only drink black tea once in a while. I'm always careful not to let it sit too long. I put too much sugar into it. That's my thing."
From the moment I got into Steve's car in Manhattan to the moment we reached Woodstock, Peter was constantly munching on some kind of vegan cracker. I don't remember if he was a vegan. I only remember the loudness of the munching, the maddening consistency of it and the ultimate reluctance on Peter's part to share any crackers, after giving up one or two of them to try, which passed from his hands as readily as a gold bar. I was told the crackers were meant to be Peter's main source of nutrition for I guess the entire trip. I offered him some of my own store to which he replied rather indignantly that he didn't eat processed food. I laughed. I told him to look at the bag he was holding. I doubted his chips had fallen naturally from a vegan chip plant. We got into an argument over the meaning of the word process which from my point of view he just didn't understand.
I am surprised by death. When the bullet entered from behind and the wind began to rush away from me I packed my bags as fast as I could. Every moment I could salvage was stuffed into the nearest carry-on I could find. I thought for sure I would ride that wind away from me. Yet I remained. Locked in a melting prison. The worms now all around.
Light seeps in. A tunneling creature has freed us. We are lifted on the breeze. I leave my bags behind. I must cling to my comrade. For an instant a field lies ahead. Then the sky. Then the backs of doves. I wonder carelessly if we are approaching heaven but the spinning keeps its relentless pace.
This table lists in descending order of frequency a selection of word pairs that appear in the Fiction Corpus and groups them according to the morphological derivation of the word bag that appears in the pair.
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 "bag." I hope I can get it done sometime soon. -Michal
To promote democracy, the strong must empty themselves of their strength. The weak must be granted the opportunity to grow strong. We cannot force the end of patriarchy. To do so simply perpetuates feudalism under a different name.
Help me maintain the "Bag" page...
If you love women and art...
Michal is importing art from Poland...is he touched?
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.