Michal is considering the concept of boosting his run-of-the-mill Fiction Corpus with a morality play about the martial arts; cites fatigue
Posted:
I don't doubt the potency of administering English as everyone's second language. I don't trust in the altogether plodding plan by which English is presented for study.
Fine-tuning a person's dexterity with a language isn't like creating a brighter pigment. A language - a common language - isn't just an instrument that you can learn to exploit with greater amounts of precision. A shared tongue can not be disengaged from the competing values of a clan of people of which it is a description. A language isn't recited; it happens - and keeps happening as long as a circle of people keeps using it.
Teaching a person to recite English is to rob him of its cultural context. A proper teacher must create a strategy for introducing it; the insightful student ventures out to seek it.
A dictionary - properly used - can become an influential tool. The best dictionaries describe a language based on a specific corpus, a body of written language of varying size and consistency. This corpus could include anything from a book about literature to an entire set of really gay fiction stories. I labored on my "proud" Fiction Corpus to form a unique type of dictionary based on the ability of one man to tell a story in myriad forms. It is a labor of love and listening.
I have devised a million words and I have cut them down, reshaping them - not simply to teach English vocabulary but to describe the human soul, and to coax 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...
My plane touched down in Poland on June 20th. A month later I was in Austria. Two days later, Slovenia. The next day, Croatia. A week later, Italy. The next day, Switzerland. The next day, France. The next day, Germany. The next day, Belgium. The next day, Holland. All with a woman I had met my first weekend on the Continent.
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.
I was from America, land of the free...home of the brave. She carried the weight of Old Europe...domestic and religious poverties...stifled creativity. Anger. Sadness. Yearning.
Do unto others as you would have done unto you. But how to judge what we would want done to us if we've never been in somebody else's shoes? If we've never been abandoned by our mother, how do we treat somebody who has? Somebody who seems to constantly suffer the repurcussions of it? Margo and I had 46 days and 6,000 miles to try on each other's shoes. We had one car and one tent in which to hear each other's words. We learned to cooperate. We started learning how to listen.
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 Desk
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 desk in some kind of way.
If you want to communicate an idea using the word desk, 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 desk is located in the fabric of a language, the better you will be at exploiting its cultural power.
Pronunciation of Desk
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the word desk.
Video of me pronouncing "desk."
Definition of Desk
I have yet to publish the definition of desk.
I'm sure it won't take too long.
Common use of desk in illustrative example sentences
I have yet to come up with a third sentence using the word desk.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a fourth sentence using the word desk.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a fifth sentence using the word desk.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a sixth sentence using the word desk.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a seventh sentence using the word desk.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
Usage of Desk 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 desk.
That doesn't mean it's not high on my list.
Table of Frequency for the Word "Desk."
This table lists in descending order the total number of times that the word deskand 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 desk, 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 #2536
i rented a room east of disneyland. i think i found my new home. i could even work here. as a desk clerk. i wish i had the balls to ask.
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.
Jesus jumped. Like the wolf, he leaped onto the man's chest, embracing his arms, and, leaning his head down into his neck, as if to kiss him, he grabbed a hold of his tender flesh; his teeth squeezed muscle and vein (the sternocleidomastoid to be exact, and the jugular) which Jesus ripped from the man's neck. Blood was everywhere. Flesh hung from your father's teeth. The man dropped in screeching cries of anguish. Jesus leaned over and took the gun. The door to the Accountant's room flew open. Jesus fired. The man who had taken his letters fell down. The light in the Accountant's room went out. Jesus picked up the lamp (the one he had dropped before he leaped). He threw it into the Accountant's room. He turned around and crouched. The doorman appeared from around the corner with a flashlight. Jesus fired. The flashlight fell down. Jesus got up and turned back. The lamp was still lit inside the room. Jesus approached obliquely. Someone's leg was trying to reach the lamp from behind a desk. Jesus put the rifle's butt by his shoulder and shot the leg. Somebody cried. Then, someone shot, but to no avail. There were two people inside that room at least. Jesus slowly crabbed among the tied-up soldiers. There was a man inside: behind the desk, aiming a pistol through the doorway. Jesus smiled: the man couldn't see a goddamn thing. So Jesus shot him in the head. The other man lifted himself up from behind the desk, swinging his arm around and ready to shoot anything. Jesus shot him in the heart. That was it: five men dead: four guards and one Accountant. Jesus carefully checked every corner with the flashlight. That was it. Everybody else must be robbing the bank, Jesus thought. The real terrorists had no idea. Jesus smiled; he chuckled: there was no one else - just him, and a platoon. Perfect.
Third, and most importantly, on the opposite side of the door to the bathroom, near the window, was Leonard Cohen-Krupnik's desk, in the top-most drawer of which, on the right-hand side for the man who sat there with his back against the natural light, and on the left-hand side for everyone else, was a gun, which the Krupnik kept just in case of misunderstanding.
Your father waited. He watched a Polish Capitalist call someone on his radiotelephone. The man was worried; he went back to the check-in desk. He talked to a very short Italian man with a red face. The Capitalist came back to where your father was and called again. Then, the Italian man came. They talked. They smiled. They reached an agreement.
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.
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.
MÉL: I don't know, but I could smell her. She was very tall, and when I was sitting by my desk, my face was right against her hips. I could tell she was wet.
NIKE: What did you do about it?
MÉL: I couldn't do anything. There was no way for us to be alone - until the next year, when she became the counselor. She had her own office during the school day.
NIKE: So what did you do?
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 5, The Fifth Day, Part 2, Science & Reform Schools, Section 12, Economic Justice, Paragraphs 40-43
There was paper trash everywhere: trash on the floor, on the desk, papers collecting in piles on boxes, open boxes full of old and unfamiliar clothing - there was even a large duffel bag, with more clothes filling out its form and spilling out of its open side.
MÉL: She would smile at me all the time. She would pet me and stroke my hair. She would touch me all the time. She touched my hand, my arm; she rubbed my back.
NIKE: Where was this?
MÉL: In the classroom: I was sitting by my desk in front of everyone. I would always sit in the front row.
NIKE: Oh, I see. Did you show off?
MÉL: Of course I would show off.
NIKE: What did you do?
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 5, The Fifth Day, Part 2, Science & Reform Schools, Section 12, Economic Justice, Paragraphs 20-25
The girl at the desk raised an eyebrow and pulled her ears back: the unmistakable gesture of recognition - in this case, mingling with curiosity and judgment. She went back to her schoolwork; but after I had passed her, and a few meters were between us, I impulsively spun around. Indeed, I caught her: she was checking me out. And she couldn't stop her head from jerking back. Poor girl: she was already turning red by the time I turned around.
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.
"It's bubble-gum," said Patsy, dropping the report onto the Captain's desk. "Nancy Cartwright's bubble-gum. I don't know how you guys missed this. Why would a girl who's planning to kill herself jam the door?"
That very moment, Harry Connick came in to see him. "I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Jefferson-Miles. I was wondering-is this a bad time?"
"No, Harry," said Junior, wiping his face. "Not at all. Please, come in. Sit down."
Harry looked around in vain for a chair. Junior realized there wasn't one. He got up. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm never here. I suppose somebody took all my furniture for themselves."
Harry seemed puzzled. Junior walked around the desk and offered the man his own chair. Harry said, "Your office is down the hall."
The car stopped in front of a modest module. It didn't seem like the actual police station. Tatum wondered if it were some kind of annex. The rooms were small. The man seated Tatum at a desk in one of the offices. An unusually large Manga person entered.
It said, "Shleeplaptip-bzz-kk-sh-kk." The slurping sounds were supposed to be words.
Uzumaki walked to his desk. He pressed the intercom. He said, "You can show her in, Miss April." In a moment, the door opened. The woman entered. "Thank you for coming, Ms. Read. The gentleman to your right is Pat Harris. He's a bailiff with the investigative branch. He's read some of your work. He says he met your ex-wife in Cannes."
The man translated. "She says she welcomes you." The dirty Manga sat at the opposite end of the desk. Its jawless mouth flexed like a wet vagina-the only difference being, this thing was full of teeth.
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.
"Desk" 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.
The case against Captain Orbitz stymied. The investigation plodded on. It was discovered that Orbitz had recently purchased a ship, the Nautilus. It was capable of inter-brane travel. He was seen in private conversation with an enginner from a planet abandoned by the Alliance to marauding Scutus forces. He was in constant contact with the lieutenant in charge of operating the prototype for an automated combat system. All of it curious. None of it meaningful. When the funding for the combat system was discontinued as part of a swath of spending cuts it generated the usual bitterness and threats among the interested parties. Among them turned out to be Orbitz. Within one microarcsecond of the announcement he tendered his resignation. It was an outrage. He was the poster child of the military. If he didn't want to be a courier anymore he could have a desk job. He could be a liaison. Or a recruiter. He didn't have to quit. According to Orbitz he could no longer serve a government that didn't safeguard its own citizens. As far as the Admiralty could tell he was referring to some outlying garbage planet. It was obscene.
"John's dead," said Bob. "He killed himself half an hour ago. He left a note to you. Apologizing. Better yet. They have the real letter. A handwritten rough draft they found in his desk. They'll blame you for sure."
"What about my car," said Proctor. "They'll figure out it wasn't you. They'll know it was Emily."
The Education Ministry was offering me a job. It was a teaching position at a village school. It was the only school for a large area. Children from many villages went there. Only one teacher taught there and he had literally drunk himself to death a week before. The Ministry was in a hurry to fill the position. Absolutely nobody was interested. I only had one question. I asked if the village was far from Moscow. The man behind the desk nodded his head. I accepted.
The Amazon called his team. One half was still following Orbitz on the cruise ship. The other half was in front of the shop. He ordered them into the neon building. They walked up to the second floor. The team leader paused. He could hear something in the room ahead. It sounded like a man rapping his fingers on a desk. He pushed open the door. There was no desk. There was no man. There was clutter everywhere. Strange objects of art and furniture stacked on top of each other loomed from every corner. The rapping continued. It was slower now. It was more cautious. The men squeezed into the room. All of them were transfixed by the sound. It was coming from behind a low curtain. The curtain was draped over what seemed like a crate. Or a cage. The men crowded in front of it. The leader reached out his hand. He grabbed a corner of the curtain. He lifted it.
I remember what she said. She was standing at the door. "Albert is always working," she murmured. "Nonstop: nothing but work, work, work. I'm afraid to leave my child alone with him. One time, he was supposed to be watching her. She jumped out of her crib. Can you believe it? She flipped. I found her on the floor. She was on her back. She was laughing, smiling, as if nothing had happened.
"My husband was five feet away. He was sitting at his desk with his nose in his books. He never even looked.
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 desk 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 "desk." I hope I can get it done sometime soon. -Michal
Life is a spinning sphere with Joy at one pole and Sadness at the other. Each continuously feeding its pair. Joy flanked by the emotions of Trust on one side, Surprise on the other. Trust leading to Anticipation; anticipation leading to Fear. Surprise leading to Disgust; disgust leading to Anger. Anger and Fear fueling our Sadness. Sadness giving way, in time, to Joy; through Hope, an orientation towards Love. Love, an openness towards Joy, Trust and Surprise; the sum of emotion; emotion amplified by others. Multiplied and divided, in equal parts. Such that to those from whom it has been subtracted, we must add. Until we are whole.
Help keep the "Desk" page up and running...
If you love women and art...
Michal's exporting art...is he meshugge?
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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