Michal refuses to consider the idea of boosting his vast Fiction Corpus with a book about literature; cites fatigue
Posted:
I don't doubt the practicality of implementing English as a universal language. I don't regard highly the formalistic methodology by which English is taught.
Fine-tuning one's adroitness with a language isn't like producing a more resilient bow. A language - a living tongue - is not just a tool that you can teach yourself to wield with a greater amount of precision. A living tongue cannot be insulated from the philosophical currents 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.
Teaching a pupil to recite English is to cheat her out of its cultural context. A proper educator must have a blueprint for introducing it; the perceptive student ventures out to seek it.
A dictionary - properly used - can become an influential tool. The best dictionaries define a language on the basis of a particular corpus, a body of writing of various size and consistency. They may contain everything from a book about literature to a copious amount of the best fiction books yet. I burnt many candles developing my "solid" Fiction Corpus to form a unique class 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 classified them, reshaping them - not merely to teach American vocabulary but to defend the human soul, and to propel that spirit or soul not just to recite but to happen.
Author's Note: I have been enjoined from sharing the details of my true romance adventure until such time that the other party is prepared to present her perspective on the affair arrangement...
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.
As an artist, from the beginning of my adult career, my work had been devoted to the problem of body acceptance, a goal that I would later learn was shared by a whole community of people called naturists, a humble portion of which I discovered residing in Poland, a country whose cultural conservatism does not lend itself readily to forward thinking. One of those forward-thinking Polish naturists happened to be Margo.
I had an American passport. She didn't. And the fact that I was driving a car with Polish license plates gave her ample opportunity to point out the difference. It wasn't just police and border guards who ethnically profiled me. Regular folks did it too. One campsite owner didn't shake my hand until he realized I was an American. By that point, I had trained myself to use a simplified English, something that more closely resembled what passes for a lingua franca in Europe these days. Something Margo was trying very hard to master.
I've never gone hungry without deserving it. I've never been systemically beaten by a parent. I've never been fondled by a priest. That doesn't mean I can't listen to somebody who has had to experience such abuse and it doesn't mean I can't try to understand. Margo and I traveled 6,000 miles together. We slept in the same tent. We had to listen to each other. A person shouldn't need 6,000 miles to do it. We should be able to listen to each other just because we want to. We should've been taught to do it. If we haven't been taught, we should be learning how to do it and learning fast.
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 Black
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 black in some kind of way.
If you want to communicate an idea using the word black, 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 black is located in the fabric of a language, the better you will be at exploiting its cultural power.
Pronunciation of Black
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the word black.
Video of me pronouncing "black."
Definition of Black
I have yet to publish the definition of black.
I'm sure it won't take too long.
Common use of black in illustrative example sentences
I have yet to come up with a fourth sentence using the word black.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a fifth sentence using the word black.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a sixth sentence using the word black.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a seventh sentence using the word black.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
Usage of Black 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 black.
That doesn't mean it's not high on my list.
Table of Frequency for the Word "Black."
This table lists in descending order the total number of times that the word blackand 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 black, 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 #1733
two identical black sedans pulled into the consulates parking lot. they look just like the one from the nightclub. tinted windows.
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.
Standing outside in the alleyway, Jesus would stare at the sign on the opposite wall. It was disgusting: both alley and sign, but especially the sign, which dangled over its old, abandoned storefront like a dead monkey. One of its two chains had broken from its plastic D-ring and now the sign, suspended from only one of its steel chains, hung unevenly, twisting about in the strong, dusty wind. The sign, painted on wood, was left untouched presumably for its old-fashioned look, or else for its macabre character. It was a profile of a black dog with a long rat's tail: an old, emaciated bitch with three pendulous teats coming down from her meager gut. The vandals who had repeatedly done damage to the alleyway in the past had probably respected the powerful gruesomeness of the image. Perhaps the store had been some kind of curio shop or else some kind of witchcraft accessory store. That hungry bitch with a rat's tail had probably been somebody's favorite familiar, thought Jesus.
On the way to his first - and, as it turned out, his last - hearing, Jesus's face was covered. The County Commandant and the County Sheriff had their offices right next to each other on the main road in Treblinka - right at the head of the main road to Wroclaw. They were manor houses, ancient palaces built centuries ago by wealthy residents, no doubt commandeered during some dark and long-forgotten age by the State. Jesus had been kept in the donjon, so to speak. On his way out, there was a crowd of salivating reporters vying for a statement, a crowd of photographers attempting to get his photograph, and lots and lots of video cameras recording Jesus's head being tucked into the giant arm of an anti-terrorist police officer wearing a black mask. Jesus's face was also covered with black cloth. He was famous - what a surprise. This is my father's legacy, thought Jesus.
Nobody knew how long it would take to get Stalin discharged. The process could last; it could also be very brief. Without Stalin, it would've been almost impossible to blackmail SECURITA CORPORATION successfully. It wasn't about money; it was about a contract. The man whom they planned to contact - the franchise owner responsible for the southwestern border - after verifying that bribes had indeed taken place (if he himself had not been bribed) would then have to reveal everything to his corporate superiors.
"She's got a velocipede, too. She's pretty rich. Anyway, to finish with the car: we said we're going to buy it a backpack: send it on a pilgrimage: to the Black Madonna! It's come of age: it's eighteen years old: the car can go on its own: it's not gonna hurt anyone. It'll keep up!" Sapper laughed.
The destruction was awesome. The U.S. Space Marines punched a hole through the main defenses; another group made a feint. Meanwhile, armored ships outflanked the pirates from their weakest point. They were encircled. Within days, the great armed forces of Sadatmo ceased to exist. Many surrendered; others ran away. The coalition held back. The great tyrant escaped into the blackness of outer space.
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.
We must've been on a bed or something - but of course, my consciousness was a part of the wall or the headboard: I didn't actually see myself. But the closest thing to me was a giant mound of hair on top of a pillow, then a woman's bare back arching before me: a beautiful back (not without resemblance to Indiana's - which, strangely, is how I think I must have envisioned...everything) spreading before me: the long elegance of a woman's back being tied off with a garter belt: black, of course; it was followed by two generous lumps of sugary flesh; but then, immediately: Nike's naked body - also something never witnessed, and for which I must have used myself as a model (and not to Nike's detriment).
The woman looked up and wiped her cheek. "He's two years old: and that's the problem. I'm trying to train him, but it hasn't been working." She let the black one go: he immediately ran off in no particular direction. The woman got up and followed him with her eyes. Then she said: "I'm usually much better than this," but she wasn't convinced. Her face was drenched with tears; I was hoping Nike knew what to say, for I was struck dumb.
Knowing that Indiana would ask: why the filthy face? I was hoping I could think of some funny story to cheer her up. But when she did ask me, there was no funny story. Instead, I felt foolish. I told her I was closing the fireplace: someone had forgotten to close the flue, and: "I sneezed." She told me to go wash my face. She was ready to insist, but we were already standing by the open door. We left, and that's how we drove home: one black face, one red face. There was very little conversation. We entered the car in silence and that's how it remained. I was pretty sure an explanation was coming at some point, so I wasn't going to fish for it. But I was hoping it would come in the car - because that way, one can always concentrate on the road. I have very little patience for grief, whether it be warranted or not.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 3, The Third Day, Part 1, Family & Welfare Reform, Section 5, Being an Ass, Paragraphs 145-154
NIKE: A black tunic! See: I told ya not to mess with me. Whoa! whoa! Watch out! Looks like you got short-chained. Hey, let's see if they can crawl fast enough to catch me.
A collection of stories featuring a sexy Parisian ghost, a spooky Moon base full of vagina-faced aliens, a policeman with an Irish name, a truck full of watermelons, a flautist, and a man who has to see another man about a diseased horse.
"It's horrible. It resembles a suitcase. The corners are sharp. The strap is short. If it weren't black, you could mistake it for a carpetbag, the kind that looks like a pot of dead hibiscus. Imagine trying to lug that thing around."
"I would use it like a tote bag," said Nyota. "I would put my groceries in it. I might start a fashion trend."
The handmaidens filed out of the tent in silence. Fear was written on their faces. The guards asked the last one about Magog. She said the queen consort wanted time alone with the goddess. She was not to be disturbed. Nobody saw the heifer escaping through the back. In the darkness, it was hard to see. Its hide had been scorched black.
Sammy D stepped in front of young Ms. Davis Granville. She poked the black rubber into her belly. It crept slowly down to the dardanelles. It insinuated itself into the soft hillsides. The hard edge pressed up and out. It tipped the bird's nest. Davis fluttered in her denim jeans.
Sammy D grinned. She brought the instrument up to the woman's chin. She pushed it up. Davis yielded. Her lips presented themselves. Sammy D slowly encroached. Their breaths mingled.
When the dust settled, the men gathered their courage. They found three rocks unlike any they had ever seen. Hauling them onto boats, they took them down the river to the Black Sea. They presented them to Gog, the lord of the hosts of the Matiani.
"No," cried Harry Connick. "You're not pulling anybody out of this race. If the horse falls, we'll fall together. I don't care if you have to peel me off the track. I've been spineless my entire life. I'm not backing down now. Don't you understand? I've been afraid of everything-even my beloved wife. That's why I'm here. God knows every time she sat next to me, I cringed. I squeezed my legs so tight, I cracked my own nuts. Not anymore. I'm not going to let them keep dividing us between black and white, the thin and the morbidly obese, the rich and the middle-class. It's over. I've seen the promised land. It's a horseshoe-shaped circle paved with bricks. There's a sign hangin' above it. The sign says, 'Winner.' Now I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm walking into that circle if I have to crawl over a dead horse and die. Who's with me?" Everybody cheered.
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: It was tough. They didn't have many farming tools. In fact, all they had was a broken shovel. They did have some hammers and some crowbars. They used that to bore a hole through a rock. They put their gunpowder inside and blasted themselves a cistern. They were lucky that the ship's armorer was part of their crew. He could use the ship's bellows and the anvil to make new tools. Unfortunately, soon after they got there, his Tahitian consort fell from a cliff and died - apparently while she was gathering birds' eggs. It didn't take long before he was threatening to leave unless they allowed him to take one of the Tahitian men's wives. Nobody was very happy about that, but he was the blacksmith. They couldn't afford to lose him.
– ACT I, line 612
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.
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
A black man in Moscow is not unheard of. There used be many of us. There were four of us in my neighborhood. Obama and Barack lived together in the gray block to the north. Khalifa lived down the street from me. We didn't necessarily like each other but we were all in the same boat. We had each come from the same poor country. We each had been invited to study in Russia. Back then, almost twenty years ago, we considered ourselves lucky. We were willing to go through any hell to see it through.
I used my weekend to visit town. I bought a small grammar and books about local history and the Great Patriotic War. I also bought another box of chocolates.
The third day at the school I heard somebody approaching the door. I expected a student or somebody but nobody went inside. There was only the sound of gently crushing grass. I thought it might be a cat. When I looked outside I saw it was an old man. He was walking along the side of the schoolhouse. He ignored my greeting and avoided my eyes. I went back inside. I heard the old man circling around. I decided to start reading aloud from Tolstoi. The man shuffled off.
On my second day at the school I took the birds out of the furnace. If I was going to sit alone again I didn't want to be bothered. I sat in silence. I found the headman in the evening and asked him again if the villagers knew I had come. He nodded his head and walked away. I figured it didn't matter to me if anybody came. Either way I would get paid.
It was on that last day of my second week, as I was teaching Russian grammar to three pupils, that a supervisor from the Education Ministry came to see me. He didn't say anything. He just sat in the class for a while and left.
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 black 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 "black." I hope I can get it done sometime soon. -Michal
Life is a spinning sphere with Joy at one pole and Sadness at the other. Each continuously feeding its pair. Joy flanked by the emotions of Trust on one side, Surprise on the other. Trust leading to Anticipation; anticipation leading to Fear. Surprise leading to Disgust; disgust leading to Anger. Anger and Fear fueling our Sadness. Sadness giving way, in time, to Joy; through Hope, an orientation towards Love. Love, an openness towards Joy, Trust and Surprise; the sum of emotion; emotion amplified by others. Multiplied and divided, in equal parts. Such that to those from whom it has been subtracted, we must add. Until we are whole.
Help keep the "Black" page up and running...
If you love women and art...
Michal's exporting Polish art...is he loony tunes?
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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