Michal declines to contemplate the potency of beefing up his outsized Fiction Corpus with a story about free printable calendars; cites fatigue
Posted:
I accept the potency of using English as a worldwide standard. I do doubt the fatiguing system by which English is taught.
Refining a person's know-how with a language isn't like pioneering a brighter firework. A language - a spoken tongue - is not merely a tool that you can teach yourself to exploit with greater amounts of precision. A common language can not be cleaved from the shared logic of a tribe of people of which it is a description. A language isn't recited; it happens - and keeps happening as long as a circle of people keeps using it.
Teaching a person to recite English is to deprive her of its cultural context. A worthy teacher must prepare a plan for introducing it; the smartest pupil ventures out to seek it.
A dictionary can be an influential tool. A decent dictionary will define words based on a particular corpus, a body of written works of various scope and consistency. Such a corpus could contain everything from a book about literature to a collection of top fiction novels. I labored on my "lavish" Fiction Corpus to form a specific class 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 prepared a million words and I have classified them, reshaping them - not simply to teach an American tongue but to defend the human spirit, and to pressure 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...
Europe, the summer of 2011. Twelve countries. 46 days. One car. One tent. One man. One woman he's just met.
Though as an artist I had been working on body acceptance since the start of my career, and as a one-time practicing figure model was used to being nude in a social setting, I had been left largely unexposed to the community of naturists and nudists working towards the same goal of promoting the human being. Visiting nude beaches and resorts along the East Coast and participating in events organized around New York by Young Naturists America, I was left hungry for more and had come to Europe to see things from their side of the pond. Margo was my introduction.
Though I was born in Europe, I had been brought up from a young age in America, living in states as diverse as Nebraska, Ohio and Connecticut. I was taught American values and saw reality from an American perspective. She was born and raised in a village in Poland. She went to work in the nearest town. The nearest city seemed like the center of the world. The American perspective was not something she was ever planning to see.
Despite the cops in Vienna. Despite the rain in Veržej. Despite getting lost in Italy. Despite parting at Soest. Despite that night in Amsterdam. Despite our fight in Lisieux. Despite the storm in the Bois de la Roche. Despite that terrible morning outside Collonges. Despite the long road to Pielenhofen, we came back safe and sound and most importantly we were happy. We had started to learn how to listen. We had left the devils of the road behind and the devils ahead seemed just a little bit smaller. We had started to open up.
6,000 miles across Europe with a complete stranger
During our trip across Europe, Margo very bravely opened up to me and to the camera. It was a difficult thing to do considering the scars that she carries. I wanted to share with the world her often joyful, often sad, often angry but always liberating experience except that the Internet is full of pictures of naked women and men and full of trolls who abuse them.
I realized that what I really need to point out is not the openness that Margo and I cultivated between ourselves, but the darkness that continues to surround us. When I censor nudity, I do so in a way that does not compromise the integrity of the human body. In censoring the photographs that Margo and I took during our trip, I was quick to notice that in those pictures where Margo was at her most open, at her most unguarded and most relaxed, in a word, when she was herself and basking in the sun I was forced to blacken her completely.
Why does our society drive people into darkness? Why can we not accept ourselves as we are? Why can we not accept our bodies? Have we truly become eunuchs? Or are we capable of defying the sickness that pits us against each other? Together we could conquer the devils that abuse us.
Whether you enjoy being nude or not, whether you've been photographed nude or not, but especially if, for you, like for Margo, it's something you never thought you would do, consider submitting your own photograph to be published in a censored manner as a form of protest against the ubiquitous presence of the human body on the internet, naked or not, that is published and duplicated ad infinitum without context and without regard for the identity or the needs of the individual being depicted.
Michal's Dictionary: Understanding the word Club
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 club in some kind of way.
If you want to communicate an idea using the word club, 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 club is located in the fabric of a language, the better you will be at exploiting its cultural power.
Pronunciation of Club
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the word club.
Video of me pronouncing "club."
Definition of Club
I have yet to publish the definition of club.
I'm sure it won't take too long.
Common use of club in illustrative example sentences
I have yet to come up with a fourth sentence using the word club.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a fifth sentence using the word club.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a sixth sentence using the word club.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a seventh sentence using the word club.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
Usage of Club 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 club.
That doesn't mean it's not high on my list.
Table of Frequency for the Word "Club."
This table lists in descending order the total number of times that the word cluband 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 club, 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 #1913
i told the lawyer exactly what happened. i was at a club. there was a pool. i put on the wrong pants. i went outside. i got arrested.
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.
There was still a small crowd of people near the entrance to the club. Jesus had no idea who those people were, but, nevertheless, trying to approach his prey at that point would've been suicide; Jesus had no way of knowing how many random people knew him as that guy whose father sells books - "you know, his father's that crazy guy who talks to himself," they would've told the police. Besides, the Krupnik would've seen his face, and, having seen his face, Jesus would've been compelled by all sense of self-preservation to kill the man. That was not an option: Jesus was not prepared to kill anyone; he was not a murderer; he was a poor man. Jesus waited. The future brother-in-law showed up. "Shit," Jesus said. The two of them were leaving together; that made things very difficult.
Jesus's respect and his growing wealth of knowledge put aside, there was oftentimes very little that separated him from the various hooligans who populated Poland. More than once I can remember times when, after heavy bouts of drinking, Jesus and his friends would emerge from their latest club, and, walking down the street, would bump into their next victim. One time, after having started drinking at three in the afternoon, we were passing the local pharmacy in Treblinka. It was around eight o'clock in the evening; the pharmacist was just locking up. I stopped and said, "Good evening."
"What's going on?" I asked Julia. "It's past eleven o'clock and nobody's dancing. What kind of a dance club is it where nobody dances? You should all be ashamed of yourselves."
"Not in cold blood," I said, turning my head around and staring him down. "He will have to be drawn out." I turned my head back to the window - the one which overlooked Leonard Cohen-Krupnik's fourth floor private office in the Rathaus Club - and whispered, "Somehow."
When I sat down across from them, I noticed Zoe was lying prostrate on the cushions. Waving her hands by her head, she was trying to give herself some fresh air. Fat chance, I thought to myself. The Krupnik tried giving her a face mask, but she refused. She kept pushing it away. Finally, the Krupnik gave up, sitting there angrily while his fiancée, Zoe Guderian, lay prostrate on the cushions of a dance club booth. What the hell was going on?
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.
Apparently, in the year seventeen twenty-nine, William Hogarth eloped with his teacher's daughter, a very romantic action that does not ordinarily bode success, at least not with one's elders, especially in such a small community as the artistic circle of London in the early eighteenth century. Nor does it often prove auspicious for the marriage itself, but, in the case of William Hogarth, his career survived, and the marriage proved itself steady and secure. Even though it did not produce children, William Hogarth was content, if not supremely happy. And the effect of this was neatly explored in the lecture, especially concerning one of his most famous works, Marriage à la Mode, a series of six paintings depicting the fate of a marriage between the son of an impoverished nobleman and the daughter of a rich alderman merchant. Some very shrewd scholarly observations were made, and I was very pleased that Christie had brought me.
He even fought to secure legislation protecting the copyright of an artist. And it came as a great surprise to learn that he was very involved with the theatre. I knew that his first great painting was a scene from a contemporary farce, but the extent of the theatre's influence on him was gradually revealed to me and I was dumbfounded. He was even friends with the famous Mr. Garrick, and all this was greatly appreciated by my companions. This exploration of all the influences over Mr. Hogarth comprised the bulk of the lecture, and it extended to include not only the theatre, but also the painter's experience of marriage.
I asked Macy where he would like to go, and he said anywhere as long as he didn't have to eat some strange meat-and-kidney pie. "Although, come to think of it," he said, "my native blood is thirsty.
I decided we should go and check, asking one of the nearest gentlemen whether a lady could possibly find a toilet in such an establishment. "Certainly," he said, "it's at the top of the stairs." But I smiled. "Is that so?" I said. "Well, you certainly didn't make it easy enough. Our friend left half an hour ago and she still hasn't come back. I'm sure there's a gentleman's bathroom around every corner." He had to laugh in agreement.
Is there a good old-fashioned Irish pub around here?" Christie wasn't sure: "There are a few big ones I know about. But I don't think they're really Irish; I think they just say that." Macy said it didn't matter, but Christie continued: "There's a place called Filthy McNasty's; I don't think you want to go there. Besides, it's too far away; there's no underground station nearby. There's a really big place on the other side of Piccadilly; I don't remember its name. You know what? You should go to the Sports Café. That place is really big; not the best place, but a lot of Americans go there - that makes it almost Irish. I don't know what the food is like though; I don't suppose it's any good." Christie had to admit she couldn't really help us; we told her that we would fend for ourselves. The three of us continued walking northeast until Macy and I could no longer hold out, and, slipping into a local pub, we told Christie to break a leg.
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.
As proficient as he was, there was something odd about Purse. He almost worked too hard, the way some nutjobs perpetually address the ball even though the hole is only two inches away. "What's the matter," asked Junior. He playfully tickled the bottom of his wingman's clubhead. "Can't you find your shot?" Purse grimaced. Junior realized his palm was sticky. Things turned awkward.
Junior was otherwise employed. He had a newfound urge to fulfill his fantasies. He frequented fetish clubs. He liked Asians who only shaved their heads. He paid black girls to wear pink wigs. He visited Thailand.
Junior's father died. In his will, he left Junior and his mother, Dorothea, joint ownership of the company. "We need to find you a wife," said his mother. She introduced him to the daughters of her country club friends. Her favorite was Jacqueline Davis Granville. She was in her twenties. She was pale-skinned. She had lovely legs.
While Junior was on his back, chin-deep in green, Purse carefully took the club from Sammy D's hands. He spread his lips the way a caddy parts the fabric of a headcover sock. He pushed all the way down.
"My God," said Junior. "Sammy D, how do you do that?"
Junior admired golf. It took an amount of discipline he lacked in regard to women. He noticed similarities between the sports. In each case, though it was possible to play with teams, the goal remained essentially one of individual accomplishment. A man had to use his club to get the ball, or the contents of his ball, into the hole.
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.
"Club" does not make an appearance in Sorry Miss Jackson.
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
The year came and went faster than Sir Lewis could've hoped. Before he knew it he was settled into his dorm. He had his books. His final schedule. Syllabi for every class. He even had his homework done for about half his professors. It was time for math club.
The next year was the same thing. Sir Lewis was still in high school. Still the only member of the math club. Still put on the same community college team for the Olympiad. The Asian girl was back. It was infuriating. Even the proctor was wearing the same tight skirt.
Sir Lewis sucked it up. This would be his last year of humiliation. He was already accepted into his first choice for college. He had the scholarship. Pretty soon he was going to be a star.
I had to go. The attack on Barack was the last straw. The news claimed all the attacks were coming from one bad boxing club. It couldn't have been true. I was seeing skinheads on every street corner. I begged my friends at the university to help. I just wanted to leave the city. By the end of the week I was staying at a friend's dacha. In the middle of winter. With no heat. I had to borrow a small furnace and forage for wood on my own. I was happy. I was safe.
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.
Sir Lewis reached the appointed room of the math club. He took a moment to adjust his shirt and wipe his nose. He took one last breath and walked inside. He stopped short. He couldn't believe what he saw. The room was empty. Save for that same Asian girl.
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 club 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 "club." I hope I can get it done sometime soon. -Michal
It's natural to hide dirty things. They're embarrassing. But we need to keep in mind that when we hide things that are difficult, we make them seem dirty when they're really something else entirely. And when we keep things that are easy in plain sight, we make them seem clean when they really aren't. That is dangerous.
Your purchases keep the "Club" page alive...
If you love women and art...
Michal is exporting Polish art...is he gaga?
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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