Michal is debating the soundness of complementing his puny Fiction Corpus with a history of art work; cites fatigue
Posted:
I have faith in the prospect of employing English as the international community's second language. I don't have faith in the enervatingly inanimate manner in which English is presented for study.
Polishing one's knowledge of a language isn't like making a bigger dam. A language - a common tongue - isn't merely an instrument that you can learn to use with a greater amount of precision. A common tongue cannot be unyoked from the competing values of a tribe 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 pupils to recite English is to rob them of its cultural context. A worthy instructor must develop a plan for introducing it; the insightful pupil ventures out to seek it.
A dictionary - properly used - can become an influential tool. A decent dictionary will define a language on the basis of a particular corpus, a body of written works of varying scope and consistency. They can contain everything from a book about literature to a collection of book reviews. I burned many candles developing my "trifling" Fiction Corpus in order to form a special type 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 pieced together a million words and I have divided them, reframing them - not simply to teach an American language but to reveal the human spirit, and to pressure that soul or spirit not just to recite but to happen.
Author's Note: I have been enjoined from sharing the details of my true romance adventure until such time that the other party is prepared to present her perspective on the affair arrangement...
By the end of my first week in Europe in 2011, I had bought a car and out of the blue had met the woman who would join me on a 6,000 mile trek across the European continent, sharing the beat-up car that I had bought and the one small tent from Walmart that I had brought along with me on my flight.
Though I felt fully formed as a writer, and had been trained in visual language, it was my first time with a professional camera in my hands. I was just learning the ins and outs and had come to Europe to find as diverse a selection of subject matter as possible, preferably something that fit my aesthetic devotion to promoting body acceptance. Enter Margo.
I was American. Freshly arrived in Europe and the new owner of a '97 Ford Escort made in Germany. The only thing I had to complain about was the fact that the owner's manual was in German. She was from Poland, and a German-language owner's manual for a car bought in Poland wasn't the only thing she had to complain about. Something as small as that didn't even register.
Despite the cops in Vienna. Despite the rain in Veržej. Despite getting lost in Italy. Despite parting at Soest. Despite that night in Amsterdam. Despite our fight in Lisieux. Despite the storm in the Bois de la Roche. Despite that terrible morning outside Collonges. Despite the long road to Pielenhofen, we came back safe and sound and most importantly we were happy. We had started to learn how to listen. We had left the devils of the road behind and the devils ahead seemed just a little bit smaller. We had started to open up.
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 Half
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 half in some kind of way.
If you want to communicate an idea using the word half, 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 half is located in the fabric of a language, the better you will be at exploiting its cultural power.
Pronunciation of Half
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the word half.
Video of me pronouncing "half."
Definition of Half
I have yet to publish the definition of half.
I'm sure it won't take too long.
Common use of half in illustrative example sentences
I have yet to come up with a third sentence using the word half.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a fourth sentence using the word half.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a fifth sentence using the word half.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a sixth sentence using the word half.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a seventh sentence using the word half.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
Usage of Half 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 half.
That doesn't mean it's not high on my list.
Table of Frequency for the Word "Half."
This table lists in descending order the total number of times that the word halfand 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 half, 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 #4850
i gained half a mile today. jibe by bloody jibe. i wonder how much ill lose overnight.
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.
When I went to the paper-money-actuated coin dispenser, I removed a high-denomination bill from my wallet and a monkey stole it. He came out of nowhere and ripped it from my hand. He was a half a meter long, with a somewhat longer tail. He was tan colored, with a big, round head, a bare brown face and well-built arms and legs. He looked at me from two meters away and said 'Come and get it.' He was thick; his body was nice and thick - well-fed - his belly was bulging out like nobody's business. "You've got a lot of nerve," I said, "with a belly like that." He was standing erect, using his tail for support. Then he placed the paper money into his mouth, turned around, dropped to his little monkey hands and walked away - very, very slowly. The bastard didn't even run; he walked.
As Jesus waited, he took his vows at St. Mary's Church in Krakow. Kneeling before the famous altarpiece, he kissed a crucifix and vowed obedience to the Pope, poverty, and chastity. On his way out, Jesus stopped halfway down the nave, turned around, and watched a nun closing the right wing, then the left. The altarpiece was hidden. Jesus felt something end - something indescribable.
Carrying the bodies down the path, we got to the orchards and turned right. Sneaking along the side of an old and withered orchard, we reached the other half of Field Road. The cemetery was nearby. All we had to do now was pass in front of a few houses. "It's clear," said one of the men. Surreptitiously, we carried the bodies through the streets until we reached a hole in a fence. Going through the hole, we found ourselves inside the cemetery, though tucked into the southwestern corner, which lay hidden from the eastern side by a low-lying ridge. Going along the western edge, we reached another group of men. They were digging.
When Sapper came, he threatened everything. Sapper was stupid, but, quite apart from that, he couldn't speak English. That situation was troublesome. Introducing Sapper was difficult; to abandon him, cruel. Jesus wavered. After making a few half-hearted attempts, he quit. Resigning himself to the situation, he decided to stay at home and not show himself in public. That way, the whole problem was avoided. Then, two older girls began showing interest. Jesus wasn't sure what they wanted. Sapper wasn't good for anything but standing there and looking dumb - despite his intense interest in girls. Jesus was convinced that Sapper was the object of their ridicule, not their sincere interest. With mixed feelings of shame and guilt, Jesus abandoned his cousin one day in order to have a rendezvous with those two older girls. After this encounter, Jesus began suspecting that he was the object of their ridicule, not his cousin. He was terribly confused.
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.
I must not forget that he is also half-Russian, and totally capable of exploiting that angle as well. There's nothing quite like a forceful and rough-spoken Eastern European, especially when you're trying to capture a crowd's attention, hoping that you'll engender in them the appropriate caution, respect, and awe (making sure that their reactions are observed by everyone around you, eager for those feelings to filter down to every individual) until you have just the right timidity, when you can begin condescending to show a gentler edge for their sake, and thereby win them over with your generosity. I wonder whether Nike performed a trick like this with his family, making sure that Luka was close enough to observe his dominance. It might have played a role in the formation of their partnership. Who knows?
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 2, The Second Day, Part 1, Labor & Economic Reform, Section 4, The Male Personality, Paragraph 4
Poor Albert: I can only wonder what else he had to manage; I saw him deal with a lot, but I'm sure I didn't get to see half of it. I can almost understand now why he moved out for the last few days. But still, so many things I cannot understand, so many vivid memories being made even more vivid.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 3, Wondering, Paragraph 5, Clauses 6-9
NIKE: I just don't fucking get it. Why do the police make such a big fucking deal?
INDIE: You know why, Nike? Because she's a fucking nun, man. Why would they be looking for a tunic if they didn't know she was a nun?
NIKE: I know, but it just doesn't make any sense. If she's a nun, then why the hell wasn't she wearing a tunic in the first place? Did someone come and steal it right off her back?
NIKE: I'm saying that the police don't think she's a prostitute. They don't think she's a woman who would walk around half-naked. They think her tunic was stolen from her when she was raped, and she's not doing anything to refute that. She's keeping silent.
By the time I found myself waiting for Luke an extra half-hour, I was so incredibly fatigued I couldn't stop myself from falling asleep. Sprawling on the soft duvet of Luke's bed, I began to dream. I dreamt of that boy - the one I mistook for Luke walking down the hall - I saw his face, the resemblance to Macy - the wide walnut eyes were consuming me; they were consuming my mind until I saw nothing but them: they consumed my dream; I was no longer looking at them but through them - they were somebody else's eyes, watching undistinguishable forms - my dreaming mind was too tired to focus; until finally, there was my room from Prospect Street, and there was I: floating above myself; I tried to kiss me, but I was fast asleep.
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.
"Her half-Mongolian Highness," Manfredo would correct him.
"Her half-Mongolian Christian Highness!"
"Long live the Pope!" This would make everybody spit his drink.
The light emitting diodes of the console spelled out the time. It was the middle of the night. The dashboard, awash in a dim glow, seemingly floated-a stage lit with miniature footlights. It was polyvinyl chloride. It was dark-like burgundy. Hard, smooth, horizontal, finite, it complemented the straight and endless road. It was: the cross of the crucifixion. I blinked. Was that right? Was the dashboard the beam? the road, the pole plunging headlong into earth? Whither did it will me go?
Tatum screwed it off. She pulled her arm into the body of her suit. She found the PDA. She squeezed it through her collar. She took it with her gloved hand. She pressed the red button. Tatum counted. It was supposed to take five seconds. She looked down. The man was half-way up. Tatum reached ten. Something was wrong. "Hee-hee."
Nike stretched his eyebrows. "I agree," he said. "It gets so wrinkly." Barbara looked out the window. She was surprised to see people. They were on the Reine.
Nike mused, "Most religious think vestments are a block that separates them from regular folks. In our case, I like to think it's brought us closer together." He put a hand on Barbara's leg.
Her head darted towards Luka. "Stop," she cried. Luka obliged.
Nike looked out the window. They were surrounded by half-naked freaks. He grimaced. He whined, "Don't stop."
Gog considered that. He realized such satisfaction was something to be desired. He removed his belt. He placed the buckle onto a rock. He knelt in front of it on one knee. He addressed the buckle. He slowly lifted the blade. He addressed the buckle again. He slowly lifted the blade. He swung. The top bar snapped.
The woman laughed. "You're half done. Now the sword is too dull to do the rest."
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: You may.
FLETCHER: If the beautiful lady will oblige me thus, I know I shall play my part with an ardor heretofore unseen on any stage here or in any part of the Western world. 'Susannah.'
ALICE: 'Yes, Toc.'
FLETCHER: 'I wish to marry you.'
ALICE: 'Marry me!'
FLETCHER: 'I wish to be married to you.'
ALICE: 'Ton't pee sirry, Toc. I am ote enough to pee your mutter.'
FLETCHER: 'You're not my mother, Susannah - not by a long shot. You're not half as tall, nor half as old either. Nor is she as pretty as you are, beloved.'
ALICE: 'Man shoot haf yun wife.'
FLETCHER: 'Susannah, you have been kinder to me than anyone else I have ever known. I love you better than everybody else put together.'
– ACT II, lines 204-213
LUKE: What's the difference between the two?
MS. JACKSON: Bounty families are descendant from the original Bounty mutineers, who settled on Pitcairn Island-
FLETCHER: With their Tahitian consorts. I'm sorry. I meant their Tahitian wives. And their Tahitian slaves. I mean, their male Tahitian friends.
MS. JACKSON: The Pitcairner families are descendant-
FLETCHER: From three adventurers - to be more precise, from two ack-willy whalers and a soldier-of-fortune.
LUKE: That's a ridgy-didge pedigree. Too right!
FLETCHER: It gets better. Being a direct descendant of my namesake, Fletcher Christian, the illustrious chief of the mutiny on the Bounty, I am therefore descendant from the ancient rulers of the Isle of Man.
LUKE: A reg'lar Pommy!
FLETCHER: My father's mother was a Quintal. That means half of him is descendant from a drunken scoundrel who set his ship on fire, drove his wife to suicide, and threatened to kill the entire island population. That's not the side of the story we like to tell. We prefer the story of how John Jackson turned to Christianity and taught his children to read and write. Jackson, I'll have you know, was a Christian before he became a Jackson. He changed his name the moment the British rediscovered the island. My mother admires his cowardice so much, she did the same thing.
– ACT I, lines 93-101
FLETCHER: What?
ALICE: You wouldn't stick me up in one of your precious pine trees, would you?
FLETCHER: Not if you stop.
ALICE: What's the matter? Don't you like your native tongue?
FLETCHER: You have no idea how many times I've had to repeat stupid phrases for guests.
ALICE: I'm sorry. I keep forgetting that you're a-
FLETCHER: What? A native? That's alright. I'm white and I speak English.
ALICE: I wonder what Pitcairn was like when the mutineers got there with their wives.
– ACT I, lines 602-611
ALICE: Where is she?
KOKOMO: In what seems like paradise: Western Samoa.
ALICE: I thought you liked it here.
KOKOMO: I do. I can't help being homesick. Norfolk is small. Between the locals and the tourists, I think I've had enough.
ALICE: I understand.
KOKOMO: There aren't so many tourists back home. The islands are big. Half the land is forest.
ALICE: It sounds nice.
KOKOMO: It's a mixed blessing. Few tourists means fewer crowds but also less money.
ALICE: Do a lot of Samoans emigrate?
KOKOMO: They do. It's different for me. I'm half European. My father's from Vladivostok.
– ACT I, lines 830-839
GREY GOOSE: Let's face it. I'm as old as a carburetor and half as useful. Throw me out with the rest of the garbage. I don't care - as long as you let me waft through here on occasion.
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
Proctor was halfway through his part of the list when the call came through. It was a third victim. Reclining on a park bench. One arm behind the head. The other placed along the leg. Deposited in broad daylight. No witnesses. A jogger called it in. Thought it was a nudist playing a prank. When Proctor arrived on the scene he noticed how livid the body was near the bottom. The job had been rushed. There was no artistry to it. Ligature marks were clearly visible around the neck.
The year came and went faster than Sir Lewis could've hoped. Before he knew it he was settled into his dorm. He had his books. His final schedule. Syllabi for every class. He even had his homework done for about half his professors. It was time for math club.
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 discovered a beautiful pavilion. Completely abandoned. Pristine toilet followed pristine toilet. I commenced spewing all over. Grunting and panting through the intervals. I shat half my body weight before I heard somebody come inside. This person was going from toilet to toilet. Opening every door. I was afraid my gut wasn't the only thing about to be liquidated. My unseen nemesis banged on my stall. I calmly ignored it. I dispensed half a roll of paper. I cleaned everything up. I don't remember if I flushed. When I opened the door the largest woman I have ever seen snarled at me and started shouting. I have no idea what she was saying. It sounded like a lot. She followed me out of the pavilion and halfway back to the stadium. I was sure if I didn't lose myself in the crowd she would find me and have me killed. That was the end of my trip.
The whole issue was rendered moot when the first resident of the house in question decided not to put up a mailbox. He purchased a post office box instead. This pleased nobody. Especially not the clerks. The man got a lot of oversized first-class mail. The situation lasted years until the man finally moved out. His mother moved in. His mother received a lot of third-class mail. Half a tray of URGENT! URGENT! contest victories everyday. It was getting thrown out. The woman was horrified to learn that third class mail didn't get delivered to post office boxes. She put up her own box. A month before the Rural Mail Count. The count of all mail that would decide rural carrier salaries for the foreseeable future.
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 half 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 "half." I hope I can get it done sometime soon. -Michal
It's natural to hide dirty things. They're embarrassing. But we need to keep in mind that when we hide things that are difficult, we make them seem dirty when they're really something else entirely. And when we keep things that are easy in plain sight, we make them seem clean when they really aren't. That is dangerous.
Help me keep the "Half" page up and running...
If you love women and art...
Michal is exporting art...is he wacky?
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.