Michal's thinking over the potential of enhancing his extensive Fiction Corpus with a history of original art; cites fatigue
Posted:
I trust in the viability of exercising English as the international community's second language. I do question the ordinary design by which the English language is taught.
Reinforcing one's proficiency with a language isn't like producing a stronger rope. A language - a living tongue - isn't just a tool that you can learn to wield with greater amounts of precision. A spoken tongue can not be sundered 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.
To make a pupil recite English is to strip him of its cultural context. A proper instructor has to find a way to introduce it; the perceptive student goes out to seek it.
A dictionary - properly used - can become an influential tool. The best dictionaries describe words on the basis of a specific corpus, a body of written works of various scope and consistency. They may include everything from a book about literature to a few science fiction novels. I lost many a night developing my "ordinary" Fiction Corpus to form a special kind 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 fashioned a million words and I have broken them down, reformulating them - not simply to teach the English tongue but to describe the human spirit, and to coax that soul or spirit not just to recite but to happen.
Author's Note: I have been enjoined from sharing the details of my true romance adventure until such time that the other party is prepared to present her perspective on the affair arrangement...
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.
Being from America, all I had to do in Europe was turn on the radio to hear an American song. All I had to do was walk into a movie theater to see an American movie. To be understood all I had to do was speak English. Being from Poland, she couldn't stand listening to the radio for all the political nonsense being bandied about. She didn't like watching American movies because she claimed they all ended the same way. She didn't want to speak English with me because she not only wanted to say things correctly but she wanted to say them her way and nobody had ever succeeded in teaching her how. I desperately wanted to understand. She wanted to be understood.
I've never been married. I've never been divorced. I've never had kids. I've never lost my kids. That doesn't mean I can't try to understand somebody who has. By listening to Margo during our trip across Europe I started to consider her needs as if they were my own. I may not have been in a position to satisfy all of those needs, but I was able to shut up and put my own needs aside if I had to for at least 6,000 miles. We all need to be listened to and it is the one need that we all have a duty to satisfy. When somebody prays to another human, as a human you have a duty to listen. Humanity needs to start teaching itself that skill.
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 Floor
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 floor in some kind of way.
If you want to communicate an idea using the word floor, 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 floor is located in the fabric of a language, the better you will be at exploiting its cultural power.
Pronunciation of Floor
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the word floor.
Video of me pronouncing "floor."
Definition of Floor
I have yet to publish the definition of floor.
I'm sure it won't take too long.
Common use of floor in illustrative example sentences
I have yet to come up with a third sentence using the word floor.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a fourth sentence using the word floor.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a fifth sentence using the word floor.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a sixth sentence using the word floor.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a seventh sentence using the word floor.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
Usage of Floor 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 floor.
That doesn't mean it's not high on my list.
Table of Frequency for the Word "Floor."
This table lists in descending order the total number of times that the word floorand 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 floor, 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 #3440
there are too many bedrooms. each car has two floors.
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.
With fire came comfort, security, a new and unprecedented form of energy that man harnessed, controlled, and maintained. It made food good and easier to eat. It drove animals away and into the hands of fellow hunters. It cleared the forest floor. It made good grassland, good hunting ground. It kept man warm.
With Zoe on the inside, there was no way to fail. She agreed to everything. First, she moved into a room on the third floor of the Rathaus Club - because 'she felt like it,' she said to her would-be father-in-law and husband. "What's the problem?"
"Not in cold blood," I said, turning my head around and staring him down. "He will have to be drawn out." I turned my head back to the window - the one which overlooked Leonard Cohen-Krupnik's fourth floor private office in the Rathaus Club - and whispered, "Somehow."
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. After a while, she yelled, "Yes!" Dropping her head and holding her huge forehead in her hand again, she looked up and nodded. "Yes," she said. "I would like to dance." She got up. I held out my hand, but she didn't take it. Squeezing herself out from inside the booth, she brushed past me and skipped more than ran toward the dance floor. Before she got there, she stopped and turned around.
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.
Returning the book to the shelf, I began idly wandering around the room. I stopped in front of the wall where Albert had placed his diplomas. There was an award for winning a mathematical Olympiad in Berlin: nineteen seventy-one. "Before my time," I said to myself, and I continued walking. I stopped in front of the large bay windows. I looked outside. Already 'twas dusk. There was no one in the street. I felt uneasy. Going to the fireplace, I looked for a fagot to burn. But there was nothing. Getting up off my knees, I glanced upon a strange object on the mantelpiece. It was a piece of paper - in a large ornamental frame. Written across the top in large print was the word, 'ACCEPTED.' But most of the paper was devoted to a large mathematical equation. I reached for the frame to get a closer look, but, when I removed it from the mantelpiece, two photographs fell to the floor.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 8, Financial Instruments, Paragraph 1
Very well, if you must know, it begins with Nike in his bed. His apartment was ruined: everything: books, utensils, records, papers were all lying on the floor in heaps. Furniture was knocked over and even broken. Upholstery was ruined - rugs thrown together in piles. Nike must have thought the police had done it.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 4, The Fourth Day, Part 1, Our Constitution & Constitutional Reform, Section 1, Losing Oneself, Paragraph 7
LUKA: I told them it was your fault. I'm so sorry, Nike.
But Nike was on his way out. He left a bloody and whimpering man lying on the floor. He got back into his cab. He drove off and left me awake.
It was after dinner, and Indiana was telling us that in Hungary there's no fasting from meat on the Christmas Vigil. On the contrary, she said, great care is taken to prepare the sausage for the night's meal - it must always be freshly made. She started talking about garlic and paprika and whatnot; when she finally got back to the sausage, she started praising its color: it was always the same rich color of burgundy, she said. Then she started stroking the timber of the fireplace - do you remember? "Not like this," she said, "and not like the floor, but something darker." She started looking around for the right color, and, noticing from her seat on the floor by the fireplace that the baseboards in the room were just the right shade, she turned around to get a closer look at the baseboard behind her. In doing so, she hit her hand on my little bucket of water, spilling some of it.
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.
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.
Shephard saw it in his mirror. He zoomed to the front of the truck. He cut in front of it. The driver tapped the brakes. He saw Shephard speeding off. He hit the gas. Watermelons poured. The driver noticed it in his mirror. He panicked. He floored the brakes. The humvee almost crashed.
The first time he returned, he could hear a flaut being played in the hall. Going around through the garden, he walked onto the back porch. In the kitchen, he could see his stepmother kneeling on the floor, grasping her enormous breasts. She was squeezing milk into a deep bowl. He cleared his throat. His stepmother looked up. Staring blankly, she made no attempt to lift the chemise gathered around her ample waist.
Nike offered her his hand. "I'm Nike. That's short for Nikita." She didn't take it. Nike put it down. "Where are you from?" Silence. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry. I'm a man of bad habits." He eyed Barbara's cloak. She pulled it tighter. "Not like yours."
He watched her chest rise and fall. She jerked her head. Nike calmly caught her glance. He relished the moment. The woman looked to the floor. She said, "You're wrong. Flesh is a bad habit."
Her apartment was ransacked. Everything was on the floor: her clothes, her notepads, her electronic newspapers-even her toys. Tatum gasped. The PDA was gone. She stormed back to the stadium. Barging into the administrative office, she told the frightened, bewildered Manga People that if any of them were responsible for burglarizing her apartment, she would go ape-shit . She was going to call the bailiffs.
One day, while waiting for Kumiko by the tea ceremony room on the sixty-fifth floor, Patsy looked out the window at the spokes of the Ferris Wheel on the quay. He caught sight of his man. He wasn't on the Ferris Wheel. He wasn't on the quay. He wasn't walking sixty-five floors below.
His face was being reflected in the window. That was the last thing Patsy remembered before waking up. It was freezing cold. It was dark. It was windy. There was something around his neck.
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.
ALICE: (off) You gave them a three-thousand-dollar tip?
(FLETCHER exits with the music box. ALICE and LUKE enter carrying luggage.)
LUKE: What's wrong with that?
ALICE: Are you an idiot?
LUKE: I had a pretty nice stay.
ALICE: You said that in Bali after they bombed the restaurant.
LUKE: Honestly, fried rice never tasted better.
ALICE: And at that hotel where the hot plate was in the bathroom.
LUKE: I could make tea while I was on the john.
ALICE: And in Brisbane - where they didn't have a shower curtain and they didn't bring us one after I asked the maid about ten thousand times - I had to go and get one myself after I almost slipped and killed myself on the bathroom floor - what did you do then? You tipped that girl five hundred dollars.
– ACT II, line 551-559
(MS. JACKSON enters.)
MS. JACKSON: How are you coming along?
KOKOMO: I'm almost done with the floor.
MS. JACKSON: Excellent. Do you mind if I help?
KOKOMO: Not at all.
MS. JACKSON: Can you believe my husband's charity? In trying to lighten your load, he increases it ten-fold.
KOKOMO: I'm sure he meant well.
MS. JACKSON: As every man always does. I'm sorry. I didn't come to complain. I want to apologize to you personally for not being a better employer.
KOKOMO: You haven't been bad, Ms. Jackson.
MS. JACKSON: Don't lie. I know I could've been much better to you. The truth is I haven't wanted to be: not since the day I hired you. I don't know if you can understand this. I saw so much of myself in you. I hated it - not because it was a bad thing - because it was good. The things I saw in you were things about me that I felt had never been properly appreciated. I permitted my resentment to stand in the way of my great admiration. I abused you. I'm sorry. Please accept my apology.
– ACT II, lines 4-12
KOKOMO: Are you sure you want to do that?
FLETCHER: I'm sure.
KOKOMO: As a Catholic, I'm glad.
FLETCHER: As a woman, whose heart beats too fast, are you glad?
KOKOMO: I'm glad.
FLETCHER: I will do my best to make you happy - even if I have to grow yams on Western Samoa.
KOKOMO: Oh, Fletch: I am happy.
FLETCHER: We should go - before my mother makes you wipe up your tears from the floor.
KOKOMO: I love you.
FLETCHER: I love you, too.
– ACT II, lines 537-546
AT RISE: KOKOMO is wiping up the floor.
KOKOMO: Clean. Clean. Clean. We are obsessed by cleaning. If space is a giant vacuum, why does all the dust settle here: underneath the table? Why not in the middle of the floor? Where I can see it? Where I can wipe it up with my feet? We know perfectly well why, don't we, Kokomo? Master Fletcher can't be bothered to take off his shoes. Thanks to him, it's: 'wipe the floor, Kokomo.' Yes, Ms. Jackson. 'Clean the kitchen, girl.' Yes, Ms. Jackson. 'When is lunch, dear?' I don't know, Ms. Jackson. Honestly, where does all this dust come from? What am I supposed to do with it? There really is no sense in cleaning more than once a month. Let the moon show when it's time to clean. Ms. Jackson certainly doesn't know. She would have me clean my way right into an early grave. Kokomo was not built for dust. She was built for love.
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 Amazon assigned a top-notch surveillance unit to watch Orbitz's every move. They watched him clear out his flight deck locker. They watched him go to the gym one last time before turning in his passcard. They watched him share a smoke with the old-time janitor. They tweaked their earpieces as they listened to him tell stories about the janitor's great-great-grandfather who was shining floors and taking names the last time Orbitz was around. They fell asleep. The Amazon found out. He went crazy. He warned them that Orbitz was capable of anything. He had a thousand year head start. He was the richest man in the universe. He spoke hundreds of languages. He could have treasure buried on every planet in the Orion cluster if not the entire Orion arm of the galaxy. They were sleeping while Orbitz was on a transport to Earth.
Grandmother got halfway through tossing her hand. She lifted her finger again. "It's funny you should mention St. Andrew. Cherry branches weren't the only things girls used. On St. Andrew's Eve, if a girl swept the floor with a new broom at the stroke of midnight, the dirt would reveal the face of her future husband. It would help if she were stepping on a piece of silver. On the other hand, she could also try looking up a chimney. That was my favorite. You had to do it naked."
The bank on the corner of Lima and Rebelo streets was a big bank. It had a glass tower reaching up into the heavens like every other building in the area. It was an old bank. Its first two floors were refreshingly free of the massive luxury watch billboards and perfume ads that littered the eye in every direction. The walls were made of stone. Walking further I realized it was just a facade. But the wall that ran perpendicular to Lima and Rebelo streets had a gallery on the second floor. It was the one old thing of substance I could see. The one part of the old building you could actually stand on. For a second I imagined myself in 19th century China as if I were a young Rebelo in love with a young Lima whose father owned the bank and whom I was dangerously wooing from the street with a bouquet of flowers. The world was beautiful and full of hope. Until the garbage truck honked for me to get out of the way.
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 killed a cat. It was an accident. I was trying to cut its fur. I wanted to show Kelly the ugliness of a shaved pussy. I don't deserve two years of prison for it. Cruelty to animals is nothing next to how humans treat each other. They put me in the same prison I used to guard. At the very least I know which of these bitches aren't shaved. Those are the ones I can fuck. Even when I was a kid I couldn't stand a bare floor. All the blood stains and grime and guts on the linoleum in the kitchen. It was disgusting. It always curled up at the edges. Like Kelly's toes. As soon as I get out of here I'll find that girl. I'll get her the biggest razor I can find.
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 floor 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 "floor." I hope I can get it done sometime soon. -Michal
If a 45-year-old businesswoman and hard working mother of three kids is going to pose nude for a calendar, it's gonna have to be a good one. Margo didn't start a coffee shop called the Vagina Cafe to win her favors from the establishment. Even as she dishes out prizes to the 20 women who placed last in the twentienth anniversary run of her town's biggest road race, her business, unlike everyone else, doesn't get mentioned. She was an official sponsor for Christ's sake! But the announcer just couldn't swallow his patriarchy and get the words "Vagina Cafe" out of his mouth. That's not something a proper gentleman would say in front of a crowd of humble God-fearing "ladies" who cherish their modesty! And a Body Acceptance Calendar is certainly not what a humble God-fearing book-seller like a Barnes and Noble would put on their shelves! So how do I expect to sell this in the mainstream? Maybe if you download the free versions a thousand billion times it might help. Start downloading.
Help support the "Floor" page up and running...
If you love women and art...
Michal is exporting Polish art...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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