Michal's thinking about the feasibility of enlarging his imposing Fiction Corpus with a story about how to write a story; cites fatigue
Posted:
I accept the potential of exploiting English as everybody's second language. I don't trust in the certifiably commonplace process by which the English language is presented for study.
Beefing up a person's skillfulness with a language isn't like developing a faster boat. A language - a common language - is not just a tool that you can learn to manipulate with a greater amount of precision. A language can't be disentangled from the prevailing culture of a society 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.
To make pupils recite English is to cheat them out of its cultural context. An informed instructor has to create a strategy for introducing it; the bravest pupil ventures out to seek it.
A dictionary - properly used - can become an influential tool. The best dictionaries describe words on the basis of a particular corpus, a body of writing of varying size and consistency. This corpus may contain anything from a book about literature to some true real life stories. I burnt many candles forging my "wonderful" Fiction Corpus in order to form a special class of dictionary based on the ability of one man to tell a story in many different forms. It is a labor of love and listening.
I have prepared a million words and I have classified them, reformulating them - not simply to teach the English tongue but to be an advocate for 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...
On Monday, I arrived in Europe. By Wednesday I had bought a car. By Friday I had met the woman who a few months later would end up having travelling 6,000 miles across Europe with me.
I knew naturism was popular in many parts of Europe and as an artist who had worked on body acceptance for his entire career I was keen on documenting some small part of it. Lo and behold, I found a very important part of it hiding in Poland. Her name was Margo.
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.
I've never gone hungry without deserving it. I've never been systemically beaten by a parent. I've never been fondled by a priest. That doesn't mean I can't listen to somebody who has had to experience such abuse and it doesn't mean I can't try to understand. Margo and I traveled 6,000 miles together. We slept in the same tent. We had to listen to each other. A person shouldn't need 6,000 miles to do it. We should be able to listen to each other just because we want to. We should've been taught to do it. If we haven't been taught, we should be learning how to do it and learning fast.
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 Chair
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 chair in some kind of way.
If you want to communicate an idea using the word chair, 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 chair is located in the fabric of a language, the better you will be at exploiting its cultural power.
Pronunciation of Chair
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the word chair.
Video of me pronouncing "chair."
Definition of Chair
I have yet to publish the definition of chair.
I'm sure it won't take too long.
Common use of chair in illustrative example sentences
I have yet to come up with a third sentence using the word chair.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a fourth sentence using the word chair.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a fifth sentence using the word chair.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a sixth sentence using the word chair.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a seventh sentence using the word chair.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
Usage of Chair 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 chair.
That doesn't mean it's not high on my list.
Table of Frequency for the Word "Chair."
This table lists in descending order the total number of times that the word chairand 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 chair, 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 #122
barry has a humongous chair for himself behind a humongous desk. his guests sit a foot lower. who does he think he is. a hotshot lawyer.
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.
Because the state held a controlling interest in the country's largest petroleum dealer, the ruling government (the Prime Minister and his colleagues), were ultimately in control of its actions. When the chairman of its board was about to sign a certain agreement with a certain company registered in Cyprus (a known tax haven) and controlled by two naturalized Polish citizens, the Office of the Protection of the State arrested him before he could do it. It turned out the two naturalized Polish citizens were two Ukrainians who claimed to be former musicians, who had married Polish wives, and who had founded their company with five thousand dollars in start-up capital, a company which now monopolized Poland's national oil supplies because the ruling party (the party of the Prime Minister and the President) had appointed a new chairman of the board who immediately signed the agreement that the former chairman of the board had been prevented from doing. It was all very, very suspicious.
"Thank him?" asked his grandmother. "For what? For coming to the funeral? Go ahead: go and see what kind of filth he lives in. But he won't let you in, Jesus, because they're ashamed: they know what kind of filthy animals they are. They'll take you up to the second floor, I bet. They've got two rooms in there that are 'finished.' Take a look at the bedsheets. Take a whiff. They smell like mold. They've got down comforters. They've got stacks of wool blankets - and for what? Nobody sleeps there! They've got carpets on every side: on the floor, on the wall - they're stacked in the basement: ten carpets I saw leaning against the wall; ten more, stacked on top of the floor. You know who bought those things? The Commandant's wife: she was the worst one of them all (God rest her merry soul): she would come twice a week from their house in town: she would cook for them, shout them down for not working hard enough, then go back: to their house in town! Why did she buy those things? Why did she buy a swing she never got to swing in? Why did she buy a massage chair she never got to sit in? I sat in it! After she was dead, I sat in it! It's a lemon! It's German crap! Why did she buy it? Was it supposed to be part of her estate? She's dead! She's dead and buried like everybody else.
Then the big one came: the one that made it all possible: the people who put the first man on Mars: the company that financed the first expedition: Yariba Corporation, based in Tokyo. They sent three vice-presidents! Then the chairman of the board! Then all Class-A stockholders got a free trip. They patted themselves on the back. The news organizations took a group photo. Then they announced their largest endeavor yet: an integrated power and irrigation system for the entire planet. It took years, but they did it. They bought materials and fuel, diamonds and robots. They made contracts. They traded companies with other Martian conglomerates, and, finally, under contract with SIS (Secure Interplanetary Shipping), by the license of the United Nations Organization, Yariba Corporation transported the first nuclear bomb to Mars.
"Look," said Jesus, kneeling down in front of her chair. "I'm giving you this phone." He gave her a radiotelephone. "When you dial the number seven, you'll reach this phone." Holding up another radiotelephone, he said, "This is my phone. I want you to call me as often as you can - as often as you need to, alright?" Zoe nodded. "I want you to keep your eyes and ears open."
They sold heroin to kids. Heroin was wrapped up in that 'premium silk.' They sold it to kids on the street. They sold it to mothers with young children. They sold it to workers, young and old, blue and white collared. They sold it to lunatics, healthy people, sick people, people in wheelchairs, deadbeats, homosexuals - they didn't discriminate. They sold it to priests, politicians, bus drivers, Jewish people -they sold it to anyone with money to spend. If you were penniless, you had to rob someone. But God forbid you should rob from them: they would kill you! They would shoot you dead! They were once your best friends back in the day. That's what it was like: they were once your best friends and they were still your neighbors; you would greet them on the way downstairs.
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.
And then I broke away and went to window. Indiana went to the chair and sat down. After a while, she said, "In this chair: when I am sitting here, I see myself...and I don't like what I see."
For a moment, I wondered why. Maybe I thought they were applauding my courage. But then, instinct was more powerful, and I was the first to rip my hand away and start clapping. I was looking out the corner of my eye. It took Indiana quite a long time to start clapping. I took note of that. But immediately after the applause, without looking directly at Indiana (throwing my head in her direction but stopping short, looking obliquely, at the back of someone's chair in the preceding row), I quietly excused myself and ran to the restroom - for no purpose: I didn't have to do anything. So I got a drink of water instead.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 13, Apprehension, Paragraph 7
Perhaps a glare from the lights of the console: I couldn't see them from where I was, but, perhaps, owing to Nike's hunched-over position (which he would only relax when he was looking down his nose, at which point, he was leaning back in his chair - but only briefly, as then he would lean forward again), with his body thus contracted, the lights from the console may have been reflecting off his face, concentrating under his brow - but, I suppose, it may have been a reflection from the dashboard, angled as it was towards the driver, or maybe a combination thereof - regardless, there was a distinct glare on his face, and, hollowing out his features, he looked like the devil's minion, or, at least, someone trapped in hell: either a weary traveler misled, or a duty-bound man who was chafing against the fiber of his will.
We were driving up the Allée du Bord de l'Eau, having turned, I presume, from Anatole Boulevard. Perhaps Nike was looking across the river at something - I don't know. At any rate, it was nighttime and very dark - there was no moon - and yet, I could see Nike's face very clearly. Perhaps a glare from the lights of the console: I couldn't see them from where I was, but, perhaps, owing to Nike's hunched-over position (which he would only relax when he was looking down his nose, at which point, he was leaning back in his chair - but only briefly, as then he would lean forward again), with his body thus contracted, the lights from the console may have been reflecting off his face, concentrating under his brow - but, I suppose, it may have been a reflection from the dashboard, angled as it was towards the driver, or maybe a combination thereof - regardless, there was a distinct glare on his face, and, hollowing out his features, he looked like the devil's minion, or, at least, someone trapped in hell: either a weary traveler misled, or a duty-bound man who was chafing against the fiber of his will.
Suddenly realizing how silly I was, I had to laugh, and, getting up from my chair, I asked psychology class girl if she wouldn't like a cigarette. She said certainly, and, picking up the tape recorder, I asked if she were done with it. She said, "Yes, let's have a listen." So we went outside and I tried to rewind the tape as far back as necessary.
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.
"I told you. There's a crackdown. You're not going to find anybody in the cities. This town has one public security bureau. I don't think they have guns."
"What are we going to see around here?"
"There's a monument to Chairman Mao right in front of you. Turn around. There's a post office, a mobile phone center-even an Avon store. Would you like some cosmetics?"
"Do I look like I need some? Point me in the direction of the nearest four-star hotel."
"It was cannabis," said the Captain, pushing back his chair and getting up. "This must be the worst example of police work I have ever seen. You allowed an attack dog to run wild on a nude beach?"
"Even though he is a Beuern," Manfredo continued. He would put down his cup. "My ancestor came here from Normandy with Drengot." He would so emphasize the name that almost every time he leaned forward to spit it out, he would almost fall out of his chair. "He was one of Drengot's two hundred and fifty knights-errant." He would hiccup. "Beuern would be nothing if not for Drengot."
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.
"Chair" does not make an appearance in Sorry Miss Jackson.
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
"It's funny." Indiana wagged her finger. "There is another thing we did on St. Luca. The whole village would start to make a chair. One family would make one leg. Another family would make another. It was a way of strengthening the community. Like the apple, we had to do something every day - even if it was only a bit of sanding. We couldn't finish until Christmas. When it was done, we would put the chair inside the church. If somebody was brave enough to step on it, he would be able to see who in the village is the witch.
"At the beginning of midnight mass, Albert jumped on the chair. Everybody stared. They were shocked. Nobody had ever done it. They looked at him like, "What are you doing?" He stared at me. He smiled. He said, 'That woman is the witch." He pointed at me. He said, 'She is the most beautiful witch in the whole world. She has bewitched me.' Albert asked me to marry him - right then and there.
Father walked in with Albert. They told us Christkindl had flown by. It was time to open presents. We gradually gathered ourselves together. You stayed on the couch. Indiana took Olympia out of her chair. Mother begged to take her. Indiana held her out. I watched Mother bounce the baby in her arms. She followed Grandmother out of the room. I turned to leave.
The creeping silence of the crowded room finally brought Pfizer back to his senses. He faced forward and sat up straight in his flex-form chair. "No," he said. "It's Microsoft, by the way."
You were probably thinking about it as you lay on the couch. It was after dinner. Albert was in the other room with Father. Indiana and I were on the floor. Mother was on the love seat. Grandmother was in her chair.
Olympia stopped bouncing. She squirmed. She giggled. She drooled. She started bouncing again.
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 chair 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 "chair." 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 "Chair" page alive...
If you love women and art...
Michal's importing Polish art...is he crackers?
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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