Michal is wrestling with the practicality of supplementing his superb Fiction Corpus with a treatise on his own aesthetic; cites fatigue
Posted:
I think highly of the potency of enacting English as the world's second language. I don't believe in the lumbering technique by which English is presented for study.
Refining one's adeptness with a language isn't like developing a stronger crankshaft. A language - a spoken tongue - is not just an instrument that you can teach yourself to use with a greater amount of precision. A shared tongue can't be parted from the prevailing culture of a circle 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 student recite English is to strip her of its cultural context. A worthy instructor has to develop a technique for introducing it; the wisest student ventures out to seek it.
A dictionary has the potential to be an influential tool. A decent dictionary will define a language based on a specific corpus, a body of written language of varying scope and consistency. This corpus might include anything from a book about literature to some prose fiction. I watched many nights pass creating my "gargantuan" Fiction Corpus to form a unique 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 drafted a million words and I have anatomized them, reshaping them - not simply to teach American vocabulary but to be an advocate for 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...
On Monday, I arrived in Europe. By Wednesday I had bought a car. By Friday I had met the woman who a few months later would end up having travelling 6,000 miles across Europe with me.
I knew naturism was popular in many parts of Europe and as an artist who had worked on body acceptance for his entire career I was keen on documenting some small part of it. Lo and behold, I found a very important part of it hiding in Poland. Her name was Margo.
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.
Margo and I spent over 40 days on the road. We started out as basically strangers, but in those 40 days we started listening to each other. We started teaching ourselves how to cooperate. Our journey across Europe may have ended, but our journey towards each other continues. No amount of fear, anger, sadness, disgust or anticipation can stop hope. Slowly but surely, we're learning how to beat the devils that abuse us.
6,000 miles across Europe with a complete stranger
During our trip across Europe, Margo very bravely opened up to me and to the camera. It was a difficult thing to do considering the scars that she carries. I wanted to share with the world her often joyful, often sad, often angry but always liberating experience except that the Internet is full of pictures of naked women and men and full of trolls who abuse them.
I realized that what I really need to point out is not the openness that Margo and I cultivated between ourselves, but the darkness that continues to surround us. When I censor nudity, I do so in a way that does not compromise the integrity of the human body. In censoring the photographs that Margo and I took during our trip, I was quick to notice that in those pictures where Margo was at her most open, at her most unguarded and most relaxed, in a word, when she was herself and basking in the sun I was forced to blacken her completely.
Why does our society drive people into darkness? Why can we not accept ourselves as we are? Why can we not accept our bodies? Have we truly become eunuchs? Or are we capable of defying the sickness that pits us against each other? Together we could conquer the devils that abuse us.
Whether you enjoy being nude or not, whether you've been photographed nude or not, but especially if, for you, like for Margo, it's something you never thought you would do, consider submitting your own photograph to be published in a censored manner as a form of protest against the ubiquitous presence of the human body on the internet, naked or not, that is published and duplicated ad infinitum without context and without regard for the identity or the needs of the individual being depicted.
Michal's Dictionary: Understanding the word Hand
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 hand in some kind of way.
If you want to communicate an idea using the word hand, 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 hand is located in the fabric of a language, the better you will be at exploiting its cultural power.
Pronunciation of Hand
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the word hand.
Video of me pronouncing "hand."
Definition of Hand
I have yet to publish the definition of hand.
I'm sure it won't take too long.
Common use of hand in illustrative example sentences
I have yet to come up with a fifth sentence using the word hand.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a sixth sentence using the word hand.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a seventh sentence using the word hand.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
Usage of Hand 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 hand.
That doesn't mean it's not high on my list.
Table of Frequency for the Word "Hand."
This table lists in descending order the total number of times that the word handand 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 hand, 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 #1620
what do we have here. tall dark and handsome just went over to cleopatras table. some of the girls are smiling. cleopatra seems composed.
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.
He invited us all to sit around a round table - a small, round table. We sat down. The room was small; there was nothing else in it except for the round table and four small chairs. Jesus put his pistol on the table; it lay against the bare wooden surface, pointing at the wall; Jesus put his hand on the pistol; he raised an eyebrow. Nigel raised one too.
We were taken to the second floor. In the foyer, I happened to notice a clock that was hanging on the wall. It said, at the very bottom, in cursive writing: 'High-Class Quartz Clock.' Decorated with fabric flowers and machine-pressed forms made of a kind of copper alloy, it was, at best, a dubious claim. The hands didn't even move; either a new battery was needed, or the clock simply didn't work. He must've taken it from the trash, I thought. I imagined him doing it.
Jesus walked across the street. When he was standing right behind the Krupnik, he hesitated. There was a moment where he wasn't quite sure what to do. Then, the Krupnik leaned his head back in comfort. The pleasure of a good pee was Jesus's motivation. Raising his left hand, he swung down and across and jabbed his prey's larynx. There was a gargling sound as the Krupnik threw his head and shoulders and his whole torso forward. Jesus smashed them into the wall. The Krupnik fell down; his body was crumpled and motionless. "That was easy," Jesus said. "Like cake." Looking for a wad of cash, he found one that was clearly smaller than the one which he had seen previously. Nevertheless, it was still a wad. Jesus thanked him and walked away, down Linden Flower Road. He didn't run; he walked. When he got to the Church, he climbed up the stairs and went through the block. At the corner, he looked into Town Square and waited for the Irishman to leave. When he did, Jesus went to his building, unlocked the door, climbed the stairs and went to bed. Before he fell asleep, he heard the sound of sirens.
A literature book narrated by a pair of siblings on either side of the Atlantic whose profoundly weird sexual experiences pose a serious challenge to their traditional understanding of mathematicians, marriage, gay young men and God.
The zipper was being troublesome. Its teeth were stuck. Indiana's hand gave the beast a gentle tug, then a more violent one. She turned her head and saw me - no: she didn't see me: she looked at me. She caught my eyes. She smiled; I had no idea she could see me. I was staring blankly in the mirror.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 9, Intoxication, Paragraph 10, Clauses 1-7
If he were to catch so much as a look between the two of you, do you have any idea what his reaction would be? You cannot underestimate the importance of a look. It was a look that you shared with Indiana all those years ago that has now refined everything I once knew. Looks are very potent creatures. They will define a course of action, they will spur it, and, at any moment, if their master so desire, a terrible look will cause a once determined person to abandon any hope of success. Do not forget what a stern face can do. If you must, remind yourself in the mirror, and keep this knowledge handy; there is more power in the face than in either hand, more truth in the eye than in any utterance known to man. That is the last word of advice I will allow myself; I seem to have grown so much older since I first began writing this letter.
My knees began shaking, and before it was too obvious, I got up and realized how weak my legs were. Walking as steadily as I could to the kitchen, I found it mercifully deserted. After pacing for a brief moment, I decided to take a shot of liquor, but my whole body was shaking: my legs were shaking, my shoulders, my arms were shaking and my hands were shaking. I leaned against the counter and my hands were calm, then my arms were calm even though my shoulders continued to shake. I tried to stand upright, but my breast began to shudder, and my breath was shuddering too. And then my whole body shuddered - mercifully so, because after that I was relatively in control, and could only complain of a little trembling.
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 is a gift," they said. "We ask only that your consort be granted authority over the meat." Gog agreed. He had the carcass placed in a tent. Magog retired with her handmaidens to perform the rite.
Junior seized those hands. He gazed into the woman's eyes. He whispered, "Don't you know?" Nyota shook her head. Junior smiled. He jerked his head toward the sky. Nyota looked up. A blimp was passing over the roof of the grandstand.
"Your price is worth far more than rubies," said Junior, "or a company, or even the Belmont's million-dollar prize."
They walked through the rows of shrubs. Clark spotted a functioning dripline. He fell to his face getting to it. Shephard watched him kneel, cupping his hands like a schoolboy. He was counting the drips. Shephard wanted to say something. He decided it was too hot to bother.
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.
FLETCHER: Trouble. The Tahitians were already upset. They hadn't been given any land when the island was divided, not to mention the fact that some of them were being beaten. Naturally, they started plotting. What they didn't take into account was the fact that To-ofa-iti, the blacksmith's new wife, was not complaining. The blacksmith was important. That made her important. She started singing a song, the words of which went, "Why does black man sharpen axe? To kill white man." When Fletcher Christian heard that song, he grabbed his musket, ran to the Tahitians, charged them with their crime, and pulled the trigger. The gun misfired. Two of the men ran; the rest protested their innocence. They begged for a chance to take care of it. They decided they should try to poison To-ofa-iti's husband. He didn't fall for it. He was too smart. Ultimately, one of the Tahitian men pulled a pistol on him in the presence of his wife. Again, the gun misfired. The two of them started grappling on the ground. Who knows who would've won? To-ofa-iti, however, was not about to take chances. She picked up the pistol with her own two hands and bopped her husband squarely on the head.
ALICE: She killed him?
FLETCHER: Eventually. Things were deceptively quiet for a few weeks. It didn't take long for judgment to fall upon the poor blacksmith. The Tahitians shot him down like a pig. Ironically, that's what the other mutineers thought they were doing. Being scattered all over the island, each man heard the shots and naturally assumed that somebody was hunting. Most of them found out too late that they were the prey.
ALICE: How many of them were killed?
FLETCHER: On that day, now known as Massacre Day, five of the original nine mutineers were fatally shot. Fletcher Christian was next. He was standing in his garden. Both of his hands were on his spade. He looked up at the sky and smiled. He never saw it coming. They shot him right through the heart.
ALICE: How did the others survive?
FLETCHER: Jackson was shot through the neck but he lived.
ALICE: Incredible.
FLETCHER: It's a miracle. Ned Young slept through the whole thing. The women didn't want to wake him. They all liked him and they didn't want to see him get hurt, so they stood around his hut and guarded him. Eventually, though, even he had to get his hands dirty. The women wanted revenge on the Tahitians for killing their husbands. After Ned's consort chopped off the ringleader's head with an axe, he was made to go and shoot the last remaining rebel. That was the end of the bloodshed - not counting when he and Jackson got Quintal drunk and murdered him.
ALICE: It's so barbaric.
– ACT I, lines 616-625
GREY GOOSE: I get the point.
KOKOMO: Like the worst brand of cheap Australian perfume.
GREY GOOSE: Enough! Do you want me to help you or do you want me to hurt you?
KOKOMO: You couldn't possibly hurt me.
GREY GOOSE: I can tell your mistress you stole her fancy family heirloom.
KOKOMO: You wouldn't dare.
GREY GOOSE: Watch me.
KOKOMO: What do you want?
GREY GOOSE: I've got a big package, Kokomo. Do you think you can handle it?
KOKOMO: I can try.
– ACT I, lines 236-245
ALICE: How do you manage?
KOKOMO: With gourmet coffee, with freshly baked strudel, and with sweets: when they put you in charge of the kitchen, the world is yours.
ALICE: Don't they look at the bill?
KOKOMO: Deciphering a budget one no longer handles is more difficult than knowing the composition of a meal one has never cooked. If you can make trevally taste like wahoo, you can make dimes turn into dollars.
ALICE: Are you saying we had trevally for lunch?
KOKOMO: Everybody thought it was wahoo.
ALICE: I wish I could cook meals. I'm not very domestic.
KOKOMO: I had to learn the hard way. My mother was sick for a long time.
ALICE: I'm sorry to hear that.
KOKOMO: She's better now.
– ACT I, lines 820-829
KOKOMO: It is. I keep telling you that.
FLETCHER: Maybe for Catholics: you have thousands of years of ritual to fall back on: Popes and bishops to decide for you.
KOKOMO: That's not fair.
FLETCHER: I'm supposed to be my own priest.
KOKOMO: Maybe you should start praying.
FLETCHER: For what? For the will to become Catholic?
KOKOMO: You know what I am. You've taken the time to study what my faith requires. I'm overjoyed by that. I realize it angers you sometimes. You need to remember it isn't about priests or prayer or sacraments or the Bible or saints or miracles or doctrine or creed. It's not even about salvation. It's about sacrifice. If you, Fletcher Christian, are not willing to place yourself into the hands of God - to submit yourself to His Divine Mercy - then nothing else matters and there will never be any happiness between us.
FLETCHER: I see that.
KOKOMO: You don't see it.
FLETCHER: How can you tell?
– ACT I, lines 1342-1351
FLETCHER: 'You don't float around staring off into space? You don't flinch when I reach out my hand? You are a fish. You're a catfish. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to tease you. I'm serious. I want to know what's wrong. Are you sick?'
ALICE: 'No.'
FLETCHER: 'You certainly don't seem healthy. I'm going to Father. Maybe he knows what's wrong with you.'
ALICE: 'Fait, Toc. I fay tay you.'
FLETCHER: Toc is my name, by the way; they're my initials. Father is John Jackson, the last of the mutineers - not our real father. 'Alright: speak.'
ALICE: 'Many year aro when you were ritter, te women try to escape in a poat fur of hor. Te men say tat tey fix it, put tey not fix it. Tey laugh when I catch te crap ant ah te women fa in te vater.'
FLETCHER: 'I know this story. Susannah, you're no stranger to water. Don't tell me you're afraid that I would put holes in my canoe and make you fall in.'
ALICE: 'After tis, ah te women talk apout is kirrin' te men. Ant two of tem try.'
FLETCHER: 'You're not saying that you might actually kill me if I humiliated you?'
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
Indiana once said, "A stern face is worth more than a stern hand." She was talking about parenting. I asked her if it were a Hungarian proverb. She shrugged. She couldn't remember where she first heard it.
She took my hand. She put it on top of her skirt. She rubbed it. She moved her head. Lifting herself, she turned to face me. She drew one leg onto the cushion of the love seat. Her skirt stretched. One side scrunched up around her hips. I caught a whiff of something. I wondered if it were the smell of her crotch. The thought aroused me.
Mark and Bill meanwhile were flipping through their respective letters. Mark looked up and caught sight of the old man bending over again and looking through his viewfinder. Mark sped up. He was going to get a glimpse of the eagle before it flew off. He floored the gas. Oblivious to the dangers beyond, he was rushing past the hedgerow. He craned his neck and saw a giant blue and white eagle on the side of Bill's truck. The professor hit the shutter button. Mark frantically swerved. The camera's continuous drive clicked and clicked. Mark hit the brakes. The truck slid heading straight for the professor. Its wheels locked. It surfed on the unswept gravel of the westbound lane of Profile Road and thankfully stopped before crossing the center line. Just as a UPS truck headed east. The driver saw the mass of white coming from his left and instinctively swerved away. Right into the professor. The old man was launched into the sky. Mark watched in horror as the body sailed a good 60 feet before flailing onto the ground. Mark looked at the UPS truck. The driver was paralyzed. Mark looked back at the body. He drove the 60 feet between them. There was no time to run. Reaching the remains of the professor, Mark curbed the wheels. He put the gear in park. He pulled the hand brake. He shut the engine and took out the keys. He didn't want anybody accusing him of not following proper dismounting procedures. He hopped down to the body and saw there was little to be done. He called for an ambulance.
I swatted away my mother's hand. Like I would a bug. That's when she threw the remote control. It was the prelude to an all out attack. All of a sudden I was in middle school again. The wimpy Indian kid I had made fun of in music class had come to punch me in the face again. No pain. Just shock at the sheer audacity of it.
If my wife had been present during the incident she would've been on my side. Instead she's against me. All because of a four letter word. Rape.
Orbitz left and came back with a small box and a pole with a noose on it. The creature scurried about trying to resist. "I know what you want," said Orbitz. "You know I'm willing to get it for you. Just be a good little girl." As soon as Orbitz had her in his clutches he injected her with a seditive. The girl started rolling her head about. She brought her little hand up to wipe her little eye. Orbitz started counting the seconds.
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 hand 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 "hand." I hope I can get it done sometime soon. -Michal
St. Sebastian was a member of the Roman Emperor's praetorian guard who had the audacity to teach Christian values while on the job. I think active duty American military men and women who don't vote or who don't publicly express a political opinion because of the uniform are either being idiotic or are being cowed by the threat of punishment from a superior. Either way, they're eunuchs. My purpose in creating the St. Sebastian Series is to put the flesh and face of the true soldier front and center. The good soldier puts his mission ahead of himself. He often ends up dead. The true soldier knows a bad mission when he sees one and he isn't afraid to say it. Saint Sebastian was not a cow, despite what clever people would have you believe. Saint Sebastian is a patron saint for all protestors who face the arrows of the mob for speaking out.
Your purchases keep the "Hand" page up and running...
If you love women and art...
Michal is importing art from Poland...is he kooks?
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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