Michal's debating the notion of enhancing his epic Fiction Corpus with a fairy tale about the truth of fiction; cites fatigue
Posted:
I accept the soundness of legislating English as everybody's second language. I don't think highly of the prosaic model by which the English tongue is presented for study.
Reenforcing a person's deftness for a language isn't like pioneering a more accurate catapult. A language - a living tongue - is not merely a tool that you can learn to wield with a greater amount of precision. A common language can not be sundered from the prevailing culture of a community 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 people to recite English is to cheat them out of its cultural context. A capable educator must find a method of introducing it; the discerning student goes out to seek it.
A dictionary has the potential to be an influential tool. The best dictionaries define words based on a particular corpus, a body of written language of various scope and consistency. This corpus could contain everything from a book about literature to some real horror stories. I lost many a night forging my "elephantine" Fiction Corpus to form a peculiar type of dictionary based on the ability of one man to tell a story in myriad forms. It is a labor of love and listening.
I have drawn up a million words and I have dissected them, reframing them - not simply to teach American vocabulary but to describe the human spirit, and to goad 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...
One week after arriving in Europe, I met a woman in the sauna on the ground floor of the large villa she shared with her ex-husband. Four weeks later she was sharing a small rain-soaked tent with me in Vienna, our little gas-fired stove barely capable of boiling a cup of water. It wasn't until we reached Croatia that we decided to invest in a large electric kettle. It was quite the luxury and it made me very happy.
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.
There were times during our trip when I thought there might not be a happy ending. There were times when disaster was close and I wondered whether I hadn't made a mistake. I wondered whether fear, anger or sadness might triumph and one of us would have to finished the journey alone. Though I dangled from the cliffs of Normady I was saved. Though the lights went out I rode on. Though I ran the tires down to the wire I was okay. We drove home in one piece. We came home happy. We had started the process of learning how to listen and the sound of it was beautiful. We could be sure that we were ready to conquer the devils that abuse us no matter how long it would take.
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 House
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 house in some kind of way.
If you want to communicate an idea using the word house, 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 house is located in the fabric of a language, the better you will be at exploiting its cultural power.
Pronunciation of House
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the word house.
Video of me pronouncing "house."
Definition of House
I have yet to publish the definition of house.
I'm sure it won't take too long.
Common use of house in illustrative example sentences
I have yet to come up with a third sentence using the word house.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a fourth sentence using the word house.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a fifth sentence using the word house.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a sixth sentence using the word house.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a seventh sentence using the word house.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
Usage of House 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 house.
That doesn't mean it's not high on my list.
Table of Frequency for the Word "House."
This table lists in descending order the total number of times that the word houseand 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 house, 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 #912
im picking up reddit from the courthouse. she works too much. i shouldnt say it though. shes a single woman now. theyre sensitive about that.
An experimental science fiction Christology that makes Jesus the hard boiled narrator of his own early years on a bizarro earth made dark by volcanic ash and informally ruled by a man from Mars who sells bottled air.
Jesus went to his grandmother's house. She made us food; we ate. She said, "God bless you, Jesus. My daughter loved you: she loved you like a mother loves her own son."
The town of Treblinka lay before them like a storybook, the right page already flattened out against the ground, stretching northward all the way to the town of New Court, the left page still hanging in mid-air, supported by the belfries of Town Hall, the Church of Sts. Peter and Paul, and St. Hedwig's Basilica, lifted by the hilltop neighborhoods of Bridge Street, and especially by the one on Casimir the Great, which rose directly to the southwest, almost blocking the view, but, nevertheless, below the horizon, its many-colored houses perhaps wishing for greater heights, but, unfortunately, constrained by the fact that each house was indivisibly connected to the other: a block of townhouses on the hilltop, anchoring the landscape and yet reaching high, as if its exclusive inhabitants were uncertain whether it were truly time to turn the page.
"Thank him?" asked his grandmother. "For what? For coming to the funeral? Go ahead: go and see what kind of filth he lives in. But he won't let you in, Jesus, because they're ashamed: they know what kind of filthy animals they are. They'll take you up to the second floor, I bet. They've got two rooms in there that are 'finished.' Take a look at the bedsheets. Take a whiff. They smell like mold. They've got down comforters. They've got stacks of wool blankets - and for what? Nobody sleeps there! They've got carpets on every side: on the floor, on the wall - they're stacked in the basement: ten carpets I saw leaning against the wall; ten more, stacked on top of the floor. You know who bought those things? The Commandant's wife: she was the worst one of them all (God rest her merry soul): she would come twice a week from their house in town: she would cook for them, shout them down for not working hard enough, then go back: to their house in town! Why did she buy those things? Why did she buy a swing she never got to swing in? Why did she buy a massage chair she never got to sit in? I sat in it! After she was dead, I sat in it! It's a lemon! It's German crap! Why did she buy it? Was it supposed to be part of her estate? She's dead! She's dead and buried like everybody else.
"Doesn't mean they don't want to steal it back from me - just like the Germans. Look at the house I built: four families could live here, if only it were finished. I was Commandant of Police for thirty years. I know what kinds of things people are up to. My superiors couldn't fool me: I could tell who was good and who was bad and who was in between. Just like in the government: I know which of those deputies are German-lovers. I can tell by their faces. This country has survived, not thanks to them, but thanks to small farmers like me.
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.
Consider for a moment the word patrimony. When someone is given the ability to support a household, we literally say that he is being made a father. And the complementary word, matrimony, is applied to marriage: we are literally making a mother of someone. And do you know what? I suspect that this be the only exclusive thing about marriage. This is the only thing that our ancient understanding of marriage demands: that no other mothers be made, that no other man make her a mother.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 7, The Seventh Day, Part 1, Strength & Security Sector Reform, Section 2, Facing a Choice, Paragraph 20
I began to wonder whether Luka might not be as timid, or shall we say, as easily persuaded, as the man who shares both his name and his friendship to Nike - that is to say, his potential counterpart in America. It would prove quite a success for Nike, because that creature which we call Luke, after befriending, or shall we say, becoming side-kick to Nike, became sort of a lackey for everyone - until of course, the situation became so egregious that even Nike felt sorry for him, and he began forcing himself to treat Luke with a little more respect - but, unlike Luke, Luka is not an insecure young man: he is a man approaching middle age, with technical expertise in computers and programming, a skill that continues to give him steady employment (for the time being, he says) but which up till now has granted him a sizeable income, and - thanks to France - plenty of vacation, which means that Luka has also pursued his favorite hobby quite seriously, leading to his present claim of status as gentleman-farmer, which Nike can only jokingly dispute, since his current partner has indeed accumulated plenty of produce and livestock, gradually investing less of his time in programming and more of his money into establishing a lively homestead outside of Paris - a very attractive location, especially for a household whose most recent member is a cousin of Nike's, a man who - as we know - is not only in Paris with nothing to do, but who appreciates the sweetly buzzing sound of success, and there is no doubt that Luka will soon outgrow his current small-holdings, especially if both Nike and his cousin have something to do with it.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 2, The Second Day, Part 1, Labor & Economic Reform, Section 3, Comparing Men, Paragraph 7
I left the bedroom, and, going down the hall, I stopped at the top of the stairs. I saw the front door down below me, and, going quickly, but quietly, downstairs, I left the house. I didn't go back. I said to myself: O Indiana! Why have you possessed me? Why have seduced me into this maddening dream? I want to love you, but I want to love you quietly and peacefully and safely: for you are a good wife; you are a good mother and I can't resist you. And yet, while your husband walks and talks, you tempt me - and you do so quietly and safely, but leaving me no peace! That's all I want: I want peace. I want to love you. But I want peace.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 3, The Third Day, Part 2, Prayer & The Reformation, Section 15, Running Away, Paragraph 5
Apart from our peevish little cousin, there was no hint of frustration on that particular summer day. My curiosity was soon overwhelmed by the sight of Indiana, who alone emerged from around the house. From the bottom of that small hill, and perhaps owing to our age, she seemed, and continues to seem in my memory, as being very tall - so tall, in fact, that in my image of our first introduction, I see myself looking up to her face, trying to see her eyes from under her dark glasses while she conversed with our mother and our aunt. I was standing in a hole, perhaps.
This whole situation lies somewhere between ridiculous and absurd. The idea that Albert would crash at your dingy, little bachelor pad: that is a contradictory mixture of both (absurdity and ridiculousness), which makes the proposition impossible. It is a law of human nature that we can only ridicule the things we tolerate, and the absurd is always intolerable, much like your apartment. Last time I checked, your address was not in Albany, which, the guidebook assures me, is the premier address for bachelors of all ages. It took seventy-five years before married men were allowed, and even then they couldn't bring their wives. But of course, things have changed since the nineteenth century, and, as much as a bachelor like you might regret this, women are allowed to own their own houses.
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.
"She is spoiled," he thought to himself. There were no glass windows at his cousin's hut, where he decided to throw his boots. Nor were there any at his father's house. Relatively speaking, it was not insubstantial. Situated on the outskirts of town, it had its own stable in front and a wide garden behind.
The first few times they made love, they were quiet. Their passion soon emboldened them. Lorenzo couldn't hear anything. His sister was too young. As long as Manfredo wasn't expected, they could make the whole house creak. When he licked her, she would moan. When he pricked her, she would whimper. When he sodomized her, she would scream.
"Good," cried Manfredo. "You have three things in common." Everybody laughed.
"That's not true," said Lando. "I'm not Neapolitan." Again, everybody laughed.
"I forget," Manfredo would say. "You're a dirty Lombard. Come here. Lick my boots."
"Queen Giovanna should do like the last Queen Giovanna," said somebody else. "If she opened a whorehouse for all three popes, imagine how rich she would be."
Ferrari wasn't stupid. When a cherry tree in the Baron's orchard was mysteriously chopped down, he knew exactly what it meant. It was a threat to his control. He searched for the evidence everywhere-from his father's house to the Baron's keep. There was no sign of it. He shadowed Lorenzo for days. He only left him alone to give Carmina her lesson.
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.
GREY GOOSE: Or what?
FLETCHER: You're going to have trouble.
GREY GOOSE: What kind of trouble?
FLETCHER: Do us all a favor and stop being a prick.
GREY GOOSE: Dare you call your own father a prick?
FLETCHER: I'll call you that for as long as you deserve it.
GREY GOOSE: You've got a lot of nerve.
FLETCHER: Like father, like son.
GREY GOOSE: What are you going to do? Call for mommy?
FLETCHER: If you don't stay away from here, it won't be this house that burns down.
– ACT I, lines 1247-1256
(KOKOMO exits. GREY GOOSE enters.)
GREY GOOSE: My darling Polynesian beauty, Fletcher must be right. It's pointless for me to put the moves on you - especially since it's obvious you're in love with him. My chances of success were always slim. I never lost faith in a woman's whim. I was certain, if I tried hard enough, you would let me taste-test your sweeter stuff. Each one of my advances you rebuffed. You're too good. My situation has changed now that my dear wife and I are estranged. Perhaps some trickery can be arranged. If I were to slip softly into your bed, not smelling like chattel, but like that perfume you gave my son - that little brat - who cares more about annoying my wife than pursuing the love of his own life, even though I'm the one she causes strife - perchance I might convince you with a kiss - before you discover my artifice - that I am the best way to earthly bliss. It would give me joy. My desire to light this house on fire would be assuaged. Despite what I have said, I will never ignite another house again. I am reborn. Ever since your mistress unleashed her scorn, making me sit in filth, lost and forlorn, in my old cowshed, I have taken stock. I'll no longer blindly follow the flock. I cannot yet say the same for my cock. If my wife's got a lover, I'll be damned if I don't. I'm not going to be crammed away. I'll come back with my monogrammed pajamas. I'll drink champagne and cut loose like there's no tomorrow. I'll introduce Kokomo to my little one-eyed goose and she'll say I'm her daddy. My excitement notwithstanding, I must not invite suspicion. I'll save my strength for tonight!
– ACT II, line 30
GREY GOOSE: Not to mention this island's penchant for making the most grotesque of assumptions - never mind that. I did a terrible thing in burning down that house: I know it. I've been paying for it ever since. I'm finally sorry for doing it. I don't think I could've said that this morning. Something's changed. I don't want to be like that anymore. I don't want to do those things. I think the Australians should mind their own business; that's neither here nor there. If you didn't squeal my name to the police, somebody else did. I'm going to find that person - not to burn down his house - to talk to him calmly and rationally: to put these absurd suspicions to rest. Everybody deserves to hear the truth, especially the people you love. I was kicked out not because of my reputation or the looks you were getting in town. It wasn't because you thought I killed that girl. It was because I hurt you. I hurt you a long time ago and I've always been too selfish to realize it. I expected you to understand - even though I never properly explained myself. It had nothing to do with you. You were perfect. I loved you. I was afraid of being a father. You know my childhood - or perceived lack thereof. I was insecure. I was scared to death. I panicked. I didn't talk to anybody about it because I was ashamed. I thought that, if you knew, you would despise me for it. You were always so strong and fearless. I envied you. When your family came and asked me what was going on, I lied. I acted as if I didn't care about you anymore: as if I had lost interest. Nothing could've been further from the truth. I was an idiot. I was such an idiot. I'm sorry for that. I'm so sorry for everything. I won't trouble you anymore. Even if you and your friend want to move in together, I won't trouble you. File divorce papers in the morning. You can keep the house - and the sofa bed - and the mattress - and the comforter - and the dishwasher. You can even keep the cook - and the boy.
– ACT II, line 356
FLETCHER: There is a house on Norfolk that no longer stands. Its eaves of pine were reduced to ash. Its worthy frame that I helped build collapsed in a huge fury of smoke and fire that I helped start. I watched it burning from the top of Mount Pitt. I was too ashamed to go any closer. I was there in the room the night my father planned that terrible justice with his friends. I heard them goading each other into teaching their fellow man not to cooperate with the Australian government. It was madness I heard from their lips. They were the drunken lips of dogs waiting to pounce. I said nothing. I did nothing to stop them. When the police came, I lied and said I knew nothing. I climbed Mount Pitt out of morbid curiosity to see what I had wrought. That image of the house whose beams I placed - whose trusses I tied - in the distance - engulfed in flames - is seared upon my mind. I did nothing to stop it. Do you know how sorry I am? If I told you that somebody died in that fire, would it be in your power to forgive me?
– ACT II, line 183
(LESBIAN enters.)
LESBIAN: Do you need my help?
GREY GOOSE: Stay out of this, Kiwi. It doesn't concern you.
MS. JACKSON: It does. My guests live here, too. They have a right to know. He's threatening to burn down this house.
FLETCHER: Settle down, Mother.
GREY GOOSE: That's what you think I said.
MS. JACKSON: You didn't have to say it.
GREY GOOSE: You've got a wild imagination, woman.
LESBIAN: If only.
MS. JACKSON: What's that supposed to mean? Whose side are you on?
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
Grandmother blushed. "You mean, look up a chimney? I'm afraid there was only one chimney in the house where I grew up. It was in the kitchen, next to the table, which, by midnight, was always surrounded by drunk men. They wanted me to do it. They said, 'Reinhard is on the roof. Go quickly. Look up. Don't forget to take off your clothes.' You have to understand, Reinhard was the ugliest man in town."
Steve O was picked up at the airport. He was treated to dinner. He was taken to see the view from Mulholland Drive. He was having a blast. He insisted on taking Adam out to a nightclub. For gays. Adam didn't like it. The harder he tried to look like he was having fun, the more Steve O could tell things were uncomfortable. He offered to call it a night. Adam invited him to stay at his house. Steve O demurred. Adam chose not to insist. Steve O ended up at the hotel.
A gunshot echoed through the house. Proctor realized he was still alive. He looked up. As Bob fell to the floor he revealed Elizabeth's quivering body behind him. She was holding the gun Proctor had given her. She dropped it. Proctor ran to her. They embraced. Proctor started smothering her in kisses.
"You said you wanted to talk," said Elizabeth. Proctor stopped kissing her. He looked into her eyes. "I thought it was time we did."
Sir Lewis walked down the marbled hall with head held high. A sense of incipient triumph wafted between smells of old paper posters and crusty deli sandwiches and stale cookies munched on by bejacketed professors and parents out for an open house weekend. The poor fools had no idea a champion marched amongst them.
When Putin came to pick up his grandson, I noticed he was sneaking around the schoolhouse. He had brought the boy to me not out of a sense of fairness, but out of craftiness. He wanted his grandson to profit at the expense of the other villagers. Putin admitted to me as much. Which is why I was surprised to see not just one pupil the next day, but three. It turned out Putin had bragged to his neighbor about how smart his grandson would get just by listening to my ravings. The neighbor had sent his children.
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 house 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 "house." I hope I can get it done sometime soon. -Michal
To promote democracy, the strong must empty themselves of their strength. The weak must be granted the opportunity to grow strong. We cannot force the end of patriarchy. To do so simply perpetuates feudalism under a different name.
Your purchases keep the "House" page alive...
If you love women and art...
Michal is importing art from Poland...is he nutty?
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.
Michal Recommends:
