Michal's contemplating the viability of augmenting his monolithic Fiction Corpus with more elaborate fictions; cites fatigue
Posted:
I don't doubt the prospect of enacting English as a worldwide lingua franca. I don't think highly of the ordinary methodology by which English is presented for study.
Upgrading a person's handiness with a language isn't like creating a stronger sail. A language - a spoken tongue - isn't merely a tool that you can learn to manipulate with a greater amount of precision. A language can not be sequestered from the prevailing culture 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 cheat him out of its cultural context. An informed instructor has to develop a technique for introducing it; the smartest pupil goes out to seek it.
A dictionary - properly used - can become an influential tool. The best dictionaries define words based on a specific corpus, a set of written works of varying scope and consistency. They may include anything from a book about literature to some real mystery stories. I watched many moons pass laboring on my "handsome" Fiction Corpus in order to form a new 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 framed a million words and I have evaluated them, reshaping them - not simply to teach a language but to describe the human soul, and to provoke 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...
Lots of people go on road trips. Not everybody criss-crosses Europe in 46 days. Especially not with a complete stranger.
I had come to Europe to experience European naturism, a movement whose philosophy matched my aesthetic of body acceptance and whose organizational structure and leadership I had thought almost exclusively restricted to the western half of the continent. I was shocked to learn that naturism had an official home in Poland, a country not especially known for its liberal culture. I was less shocked to discover that the home was owned by a Dutchman, but even more shocked to learn that it had been largely built by Margo.
As an American, I was full of optimism and confidence bordering on recklessness. I was ready to run the wheels off the car I had just bought and eventually I would. As a European, she was cautious and mistrustful. She needed to make sure the air conditioner worked. Which it did. If you knew how to turn the broken knob in just the right way.
As far apart culturally as we may have been, we spent 6,000 miles in one car. We spent over 40 nights in one tent. We started learning how to listen to each other. We started learning how to accept our differences and how to let them help us instead of driving us apart. Slowly but surely, we started learning how to beat the devils that abuse us.
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 Bar
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 bar in some kind of way.
If you want to communicate an idea using the word bar, 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 bar is located in the fabric of a language, the better you will be at exploiting its cultural power.
Pronunciation of Bar
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the word bar.
Video of me pronouncing "bar."
Definition of Bar
I have yet to publish the definition of bar.
I'm sure it won't take too long.
Common use of bar in illustrative example sentences
I have yet to come up with a sixth sentence using the word bar.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a seventh sentence using the word bar.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
Usage of Bar 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 bar.
That doesn't mean it's not high on my list.
Table of Frequency for the Word "Bar."
This table lists in descending order the total number of times that the word barand 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 bar, 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 #3680
reddit's gone a long way from the nudie bar parking lot. this is a whole other level. to think i paid for lunch. i shouldve come here.
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.
I went to the open window. The middle of night was all I could see - the moon was hiding; all the streetlamps were broken. I could barely make out the brick wall nearby, the one which had once formed a building, and which, with the abandoned building next to it, was where the passersby would urinate. How many people Jesus had seen urinating by that wall! He had wondered: why do they always urinate in that same place, when so many apartment buildings are around? Then, he went to that place and discovered that his was the only window that penetrated into that poor man's toilet.
We stopped bothering him. Sapper circled back to the birch grove. I lingered. Most of the hunters were a hundred and fifty meters away near the edge of the forest. Some of them climbed into a white electric truck and drove back down the way we came. The rest disappeared. I could hear their dogs barking in the distance. By the time I ambled my way to the forest's edge, I saw them two hundred meters away, walking around someone's cornfield. I wondered if they had shooting rights. There were fifteen men with barking dogs walking down one way, while another group spread itself down the other direction. Each man began covering about thirteen meters worth of cornfield. They were going to flush it out, whatever it happened to be. Wild boar, I guessed.
So it was that Jesus became the Lonely Planet, the object of secrecy, malice, and awe; the man whose power was almost supernatural; the man who came from nowhere and ripped a man's neck in half - tore his head off completely with his bare teeth, as people later claimed. Only Jesus's men knew the truth. They kept it well hid. For everyone outside his circle, Jesus was mysterious, unknown and unknowable. Like God, his power was immense. He seemed invincible.
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.
The black veil atop her head. The under-veil of white. The linen wimple. The stiff crown. The creature holding her arms back, baring her breasts. Alarmed? Preparing to run? Stay. Show that black and pleated guimpe, falling proudly across your shoulders: broad, stiff, clear-finished: a powerful serge from the fibers of a noble sheep. The chevron weave pointed down.
Where was the tunic? The woman's breasts peeked out from either side of her scapular. Black, lustrous satin. If it had squeezed itself between her cleavage, I would have plucked it out.
The breakdown was unexpected; and yet, early on I caught the flavor of discontent. Her opening monologue at the door was conspicuous in that regard. Instead of her usual exasperation, her usual barrage of complaint, that unsolicited effort to inform, that continuous concern for speaking, that vocal plying, that very pressing aural nightmare that continues even after you've woken up to its acoustical tyranny, lurking underneath her sometimes musical stream of input, hiding behind her perpetual disquiet, there was something else, something hushed, purposely muted, something that was quietly whispering its presence, something like panic.
After Indiana had inspected the baseboard, deciding that it was indeed a positive match, and complimenting our grandmother for having such beautiful wood, she took a rag from her (why does Grandmother always have a rag?) and wiped up the water she spilled, noticing, in the process, the branch of cherry tree floating in the small bucket. "What is that?" she said; we all chuckled, since we knew that after Indiana had so innocently disturbed my cherry branch, the question of its purpose would not be far behind; we were all aware of its embarrassing nature. At least we ladies were: I don't know about you. Obviously you weren't paying attention. Why should you care about my cherry branch? You don't even know what I'm talking about, do you?
I tried, but I couldn't recognize a single word. There were a lot of Hungarian objects in those glass cases - nice bottles of Tokaj, Szamorodni and Aszú set apart from the rest of the bar's collection.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 6, The Drawing Room, Paragraph 2, Clauses 5-7
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.
Something darted. I turned my head. I jumped. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was the road, bathed in headlights. Somebody was driving. There was a passenger. I stretched my arms. I gripped the corners of the bucket seats. I tried to pull myself. I barely moved. My arms were powerless. I sat back.
Luka pulled the handle on his own door. It wouldn't open. It was locked. Luka unlocked it. He opened it. He tried to jump out. His seat belt held him back. He unbuckled it. He got out. He saw Barbara disappear into the forest. She had run around the car. Her instinct was to continue heading in the same direction. If she had only gone the way she had come, she might have been spared. The Reine was a hundred yards to the east through a dark stand of trees.
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.
(KOKOMO sees GREY GOOSE.)
KOKOMO: What are you doing? How long have you been standing there? Speak.
GREY GOOSE: You're in love with my son.
KOKOMO: What's it to you?
GREY GOOSE: Does he return your affection?
KOKOMO: He should know.
GREY GOOSE: This is why you always opposed me.
KOKOMO: I always opposed you, Grey Goose, because you stink - like old burning wood with fungus on it - like ammonia when I'm cleaning up cat poo - like the bar when you and Fletcher drink too much Guinness and I have to go peel his face off the table and you have to stand right next to me and fart. That's why I opposed you.
GREY GOOSE: Alright.
KOKOMO: You stink like vulture's breath - like a wet dog that's been sniffing at three-day-old beached dolphin.
– ACT I, lines 227-235
FLETCHER: Trouble. The Tahitians were already upset. They hadn't been given any land when the island was divided, not to mention the fact that some of them were being beaten. Naturally, they started plotting. What they didn't take into account was the fact that To-ofa-iti, the blacksmith's new wife, was not complaining. The blacksmith was important. That made her important. She started singing a song, the words of which went, "Why does black man sharpen axe? To kill white man." When Fletcher Christian heard that song, he grabbed his musket, ran to the Tahitians, charged them with their crime, and pulled the trigger. The gun misfired. Two of the men ran; the rest protested their innocence. They begged for a chance to take care of it. They decided they should try to poison To-ofa-iti's husband. He didn't fall for it. He was too smart. Ultimately, one of the Tahitian men pulled a pistol on him in the presence of his wife. Again, the gun misfired. The two of them started grappling on the ground. Who knows who would've won? To-ofa-iti, however, was not about to take chances. She picked up the pistol with her own two hands and bopped her husband squarely on the head.
ALICE: She killed him?
FLETCHER: Eventually. Things were deceptively quiet for a few weeks. It didn't take long for judgment to fall upon the poor blacksmith. The Tahitians shot him down like a pig. Ironically, that's what the other mutineers thought they were doing. Being scattered all over the island, each man heard the shots and naturally assumed that somebody was hunting. Most of them found out too late that they were the prey.
ALICE: How many of them were killed?
FLETCHER: On that day, now known as Massacre Day, five of the original nine mutineers were fatally shot. Fletcher Christian was next. He was standing in his garden. Both of his hands were on his spade. He looked up at the sky and smiled. He never saw it coming. They shot him right through the heart.
ALICE: How did the others survive?
FLETCHER: Jackson was shot through the neck but he lived.
ALICE: Incredible.
FLETCHER: It's a miracle. Ned Young slept through the whole thing. The women didn't want to wake him. They all liked him and they didn't want to see him get hurt, so they stood around his hut and guarded him. Eventually, though, even he had to get his hands dirty. The women wanted revenge on the Tahitians for killing their husbands. After Ned's consort chopped off the ringleader's head with an axe, he was made to go and shoot the last remaining rebel. That was the end of the bloodshed - not counting when he and Jackson got Quintal drunk and murdered him.
ALICE: It's so barbaric.
– ACT I, lines 616-625
LUKE: Misprision?
LESBIAN: Neglect of official duty.
ALICE: Why don't you tell them about your thing, Luke?
LUKE: What thing?
ALICE: You know.
LUKE: Absolutely not.
ALICE: What's wrong?
LUKE: It's embarrassing.
FLETCHER: You must.
ALICE: Come on. It's not so bad.
– ACT I, lines 167-176
(GREY GOOSE and LUKE exit.)
MS. JACKSON: Barbarians.
ALICE: Some honeymoon: Luke spends more time with your husband than he does with me.
MS. JACKSON: He can have him. I do feel sorry for you, Alice.
ALICE: I don't mind. He makes up for it with other, more important qualities of manliness.
LESBIAN: Is he large?
ALICE: Yes.
MS. JACKSON: How large?
ALICE: Massive. I can barely take it.
LESBIAN: I don't know if I would like that.
– ACT I, lines 385-393
LESBIAN: I was in Goroka - in the highlands of New Guinea - in September, I believe - for the cultural show. There I saw the Mudmen.
MS. JACKSON: Who are the Mudmen?
LESBIAN: The Mudmen make these clay masks - some big, some small -all of them hideously grotesque with giant noses and sharp, pointy teeth.
MS. JACKSON: They dance around with these masks?
LESBIAN: With mud caked over their entire bodies: from neck to toe.
ALICE: Are they naked?
LESBIAN: Of course not: they're wearing masks. In Rabaul - on the island of New Britain - I saw the famous Baining fire dance. There they wear masks that are made from bamboo, which they cover with tapa, a kind of bark cloth. That makes these masks very light. Naturally, they're even bigger.
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
Some not so unattractive female cousins of mine took me to see a movie. I got excited when I got to the theatre. Instead of popcorn and soda the bar was selling pickled peppers and beer. They even had cocktails. The movie was less suprising. It was an American comedy that was released in the States at least a year and a half earlier. I was glad there was no dubbing. Just subtitles. Until I started watching and I realized I was laughing at the jokes a full five seconds before anybody else. If at all. I was supremely embarrassed once again. Until the cocktails kicked in.
Obama took it the hardest. Any sound, any silent white face staring at him made him run around the corner. He never stopped talking about leaving. He wanted to go to France. Never mind that he didn't speak a word of French. He was obsessed with the idea of being in Paris. As far as I know he's there now. He just disappeared one day. If Barack knew something he never told me.
China is full of noise these days. People everywhere. Doing everything. Anything they can to make it. I know there's a cost to the churning. Families split apart. Like the Limas. Ten kids all over the world. San Jose. New York. Vancouver. London. Paris. Tokyo. All born in Hong Kong. If the rich can't keep it together what hope is there for the poor. I've seen the peasant families on TV. Parents who see their children once a year. Until the kids run away from their grandparents and find work in a bar somewhere.
"Barbara's room was supposed to have only two windows. One day, while her father was off on a long journey, Barbara added a window. When her father returned, he confronted her. He asked, 'Why did you have the builders add this window?'
I saw Barack the other day. He looked like he was doing better. The last time I saw him his body was twitching so badly he couldn't walk. His body is still twitching but not as much. He can get around with a cane. His speech is still slurred.
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 bar 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 "bar." 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 maintain the "Bar" page alive...
If you love women and art...
Michal is importing art from Poland...is he meshugah?
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.
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