Michal's poring over the potential of expanding his humungous Fiction Corpus with a fairy tale about abstract canvas art; cites fatigue
Posted:
I don't doubt the concept of administering English as a worldwide language. I do doubt the unnewsworthy route by which the English language is presented for study.
Upgrading one's dexterity with a language isn't like making a sharper spear. A language - a spoken language - isn't merely an instrument that you can teach yourself to manipulate with greater amounts of precision. A common tongue can't be pulled from the shared logic 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 man to recite English is to cheat him out of its cultural context. A capable instructor has to have a blueprint for introducing it; the prudent student ventures out to seek it.
A dictionary can be an influential tool. A decent dictionary will describe a language on the basis of a particular corpus, a body of writing of various scope and consistency. They could include everything from a book about literature to a copious amount of the best fiction books yet. I created my "petty" Fiction Corpus in order to form a peculiar sort 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 molded a million words and I have tabulated them, reshaping them - not simply to teach a language but to defend the human soul, and to coax 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.
As an artist inspired by a young woman's struggle with self-esteem and bulimia, body acceptance had always featured prominently in my aesthetic. Having recently discovered naturism and its mantra of body acceptance in the United States, I was eager to explore the style and philosophy of naturist clubs and the beauty of naturist campsites in Europe. By a trick of fate, I found myself first in Bielsko-Biała, Poland. Margo's home.
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.
6,000 miles. One car. One tent. We started learning how to listen. We started learning how to open up. We started cooperating. Even when we were angry, even when it was so difficult that it didn't seem like it would turn out well, we stuck it out. We completed the trip and we came back happy. We had beaten the devil on the road. Back home more devils were waiting to abuse us. More anger. More fear. More sadness. This time we were prepared. This time we had each other and we could harken back to the joy and the trust and the suprise that 6,000 miles had created. We could remember what it was like to live in one tent.
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 Road
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 road in some kind of way.
If you want to communicate an idea using the word road, 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 road is located in the fabric of a language, the better you will be at exploiting its cultural power.
Pronunciation of Road
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the word road.
Video of me pronouncing "road."
Definition of Road
I have yet to publish the definition of road.
I'm sure it won't take too long.
Common use of road in illustrative example sentences
I have yet to come up with a third sentence using the word road.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a fourth sentence using the word road.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a fifth sentence using the word road.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a sixth sentence using the word road.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a seventh sentence using the word road.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
Usage of Road 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 road.
That doesn't mean it's not high on my list.
Table of Frequency for the Word "Road."
This table lists in descending order the total number of times that the word roadand 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 road, 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 #7448
were on solano canyon road. were almost to the river. lowes says hulu cant swim.
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.
"My grandfather," said Sapper, "for the past eighteen years of his life, has had only one car: his ancient Polish Fiat, which, when it was new, had, at most, perhaps nineteen horsepower. Now that it's come of age, as we like to say, its taste for the road has significantly dulled. About two years ago, I was given permission to drive it for the very first and last time. Its performance was tenuous but, understanding its limited capacity, quite admirable, and, combined with my youthful zeal, we took a left curve so fast, we teetered. We were not in danger of tipping over, but we teetered: on those two, decimeter-length wheels on the driver's side. We were saved, undoubtedly, by my grandfather's great weight, sitting as he was in the passenger seat. I tried to convince him that my understanding of physics and automotive safety was impeccable; my left turn was not the result of negligence, but merely my honest attempt at illustrating the great importance of a healthy diet. My grandfather was not amused. From that day forth, I've never been allowed to drive, in spite of the greatly terrifying fact that my grandfather is completely blind in one eye and almost blind in the other. When your grandmother called us and told us that your mother was dead - may she rest in peace - she told us that the funeral was the very next day, at eleven o'clock in the morning. So we left: immediately: at five o'clock in the afternoon, two hours before sunset, in the middle of heavy rain, right before your grandmother tried to reach us to inform us that your mother's funeral was actually postponed till Monday!"
"No: his real father was the Commandant's brother. He was run over by a speeding train. Walking home with two of his friends along the railroad tracks, all of a sudden, a speeding train was right in front of them. His father pushed his friends to either side - that was it: he was gone. Andrew's mother also died a bizarre death. She opened the furnace damper to keep the warmth inside. She put the kids to bed - then she went to sleep. When Andrew's father came home, she was cold; so was Andrew's younger brother. They were dead - from carbon monoxide poisoning.
"Yes: this is the one you'd be working in, Jesus. The storefront's on the other side. Not many people come in. It's pretty small - not a very good location, either. It's a block away from the main road, but there's nothing else around: nothing that would attract people. I keep it closed most of the time; the other stores are more important: I use this one mostly for storage. Local people buy stockings: that's about it."
"We're tucked away," said Jesus, "in the southeastern corner of town. To the west, up that little hill and beyond the railing, is the road next to the ponds; to the north, over that fence, the backyard of the old Sanitarium - the Orthopedic-Rehabilitation Sanitarium for Children and Youngsters. When we were little kids, we would always hop over that fence and walk through the building. We weren't supposed to, but the cripples always gave us a good laugh. Considering that the playground was right next door, we felt more than justified." Jesus looked into Zoe's eyes. "You think I'm a cruel man?"
"Not that we needed someone to push us off the road: my grandfather almost drove us into a ditch - more than once. Every time the road shifted just a little bit to either side, my grandfather was going off, onto the tramway tracks for example. One time, he almost drove us right into a sign! I yelled at the last possible moment - even though I knew it was going to happen: I saw that sign from twenty meters away and we were going straight at it! He was looking at the road right in front of him, not twenty meters away! Not that we were going very fast, but seriously. If the divider lines disappeared, we were lost. He was looking at the oncoming headlights to align himself. Even then, we had close calls. On one whole stretch of road, he kept veering into the wrong lane. Then we stalled! Right in front of a curve! In the wrong lane! I was about to jump out of the car, I was so freaked-out.
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.
Was it not the True Cross of Christ? The road was the spike; the dashboard, the crossbeam. The light, His body. It seemed to reach the very center of the Earth: Hell? It was leading me. Whither did it will me go?
Luka turned around. The headlights came back towards us. We hid in the bushes. The woman was not hard to find. She was walking along the road. Her white cape glowed in the darkness. Luka caught her in his high beams. For a moment, the brilliancy of her cloak flashed before our eyes. It was all we could see. She had crossed her arms in front of her head. She was barefoot. She had dirty feet - beautiful, dirty feet.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 2, The Second Day, Part 1, Labor & Economic Reform, Section 22, Encountering Poverty, Paragraph 44
NIKE: A man? I think so - or was, who knows? She might be post-op. Did you see the one back there with the screwed up surgery? Man! What was she doing on the side of the road? Stay in the bushes.
LUKA: This is incredible.
NIKE: It's a freak show out here. I'm waiting for the transmidgets to pop out.
Luka was beginning to lose whatever sliver of hope he once enjoyed, and, now that panic was transforming into dread, he began to wonder what they would do to him: what manner of torture they would choose to employ: what kind of pain they could possibly inflict: what sort of diabolical violation of his body could they possibly imagine?
And then, she was there: on the side of the road about to cross in front of him - but, seeing the rapidly approaching vehicle, she hesitated.
I imagined myself defending Indiana from them. Wearing a tuxedo made me feel both strong and fragile - like nobility. Until Tottenham Court Road, I kept pondering my strange, untested mix of courage and cowardice. Then I looked to see if Albert were getting off: but they were staying: one more stop to go.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 11, The Underground, Paragraph 4
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.
"Why don't we head towards the road?"
Shephard shook his head. "The road turned east when we went west. It could be fifty miles from here."
Luka took a moment to think. It was difficult with the opium. He drove further down the Reine. He took a left. He reached an intersecting road. He took the right. He stopped. He realized he was too far south. He backed up. He took the left. He passed a suspiciously familiar-looking avenue. He kept going. He reached the end. The road was one way. He had to go north. He thought he saw tennis courts. He reached the end. The road was one way. He had to go right. He reached a lake. Again he almost drove into it. "Damn it," he cried. "There must be a way out."
Shephard kicked the motorcycle into gear. He revved the engine. Pepsi looked to the ground. Shephard revved it again. Pepsi looked up. They shared one last look. Shephard released the clutch. He sped down the road. He wondered how their boys had done.
Clark humphed. The bulldozer showed up. It pushed the overturned trailer out of the way. The truck squeezed by. A few kilometers down the road, they turned west. Thick, stunted poplars dotted the horizon. By the time they reached the village, the ground was rife with seaberry and dogbane.
The driver quoted a proverb. Shephard turned to Clark. "I think he made it up himself. He says, 'Let your friends feast on the first. Make your enemies toast you with the other.'"
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.
LUKE: If you insist. I was out one night at the ole rubbadedub gettin' rotten with me ping-pong mates; bloody bonzer alright 'cause I took a screamer that day 'gainst the ole Banana Benders - who didn't stand Buckley's by the way - too right! So I turn to me tall poppies and say, 'Look, boys: it's my shout; first, allow me to shoot through, piss a slab, maybe buy some dinkum durries to boot. We were hittin' the turps that night so they thought London to a brick that she'd be apples. On me way back from the durry, this yobbo throws a wobbly and spills beer all over me uni. We take it outside. He comes a gutser and falls flat on his face. 'Good on you,' I say. 'Go take a walkabout.' I'm so full and cranky, I sit next to this swagman drinkin' plonk right there on the side of the road. 'I'll be stuffed,' he says. 'Sheila told me I'd see a fight.' I'm like, what sheila? 'Sheila down the road,' says he. 'Take me there,' I say. We go. Sheila reads me palm. She tells me I'll have a ripper year. She holds out her hand and says, 'Fifty quid.' I haven't got a brass razoo. I ask her if she takes credit. 'I knew you would say that,' says she, pullin' out a credit card machine. The next thing you know, there's a bunch of prezzies on me credit card statement. As for the old swaggie and sheila, they weren't within cooee.
– ACT I, line 179
MS. JACKSON: What about my heirloom?
GREY GOOSE: What heirloom?
MS. JACKSON: The one you stole.
GREY GOOSE: I didn't steal anything.
MS. JACKSON: Don't lie to me.
GREY GOOSE: I didn't.
LESBIAN: I did. I packed it away in my bag. I have two tickets for tonight's flight: one for me and one for you. Come. We'll explore the world as your ancestors did: the English and the Polynesians. They went from west to east; we'll go from east to west. We'll show the lost and the lovelorn what true devotion means. We'll scale Victory Peak in China. We'll sail the Punjab. We'll get lost in Gargas Cave. We'll bathe in the hot springs beneath Mount Hekla. We'll catch a Broadway show. We'll do some shopping at Shinjuku Station. We'll do anything your heart desires. All you have to do is liberate yourself. Let your passions run free. Someday we'll return to your native land. It won't ever be the same again. Nevermore will you be shamed. Woman, you'll have made the entire world yours.
MS. JACKSON: Nameless Pain! How am I to deny a penitent husband - newly birthed in remorse, in truth, in love, and desirous of similar gifts from me, his lawfully wedded wife, who, for so long, and with so many tears, kept watch over this heretofore seemingly endless and vain gestation - yet relish this sudden appearance of life: this infant curiosity: this foundling whose love demands more than my adoption could ever give? Oh, Homo: a thousand hearts couldn't beat as strongly as you have made mine beat. This is my home. I can no sooner leave it than change my body for that of a man. The world is yours; go out there and take it. Please leave me in peace. I beg you.
LESBIAN: I'll go. Though it pains me more than female circumcision, I'll go. I'll go because I love you.
– ACT II, lines 357-365
FLETCHER: I lost my virginity to a married woman. Her husband was abroad - had been for several months. She did plan on joining him, but she loved sex - she admitted it - more than she loved her husband. Then again, I didn't really know the man. Maybe he was the same way. Maybe he was a scoundrel. Some women are just crazy. I was doing work on her balcony at the time. She would undress in front of me through the window. She even let me watch her masturbate. I was around eighteen years old. She was forty. I had no idea what to do. I couldn't do anything, anyway. I was surrounded by my crewmates. When we finished, we packed up and we left. I didn't see her for several weeks. In due course, we bumped into each other at one of the local pubs. She asked me how I was doing. I told her I was fine. I bought her a few drinks. She asked me to take her home. I did. On her front porch, as she was removing her keys from her pocket, she dropped something.
ALICE: A condom.
FLETCHER: How did you know?
ALICE: I guessed.
FLETCHER: Is that something you've done?
ALICE: I've never done it. I assume, if you want to get your point across, that's the most powerful way.
FLETCHER: It's true. I couldn't help myself. I had to go up to her room.
ALICE: Did you like it?
FLETCHER: I loved it - as it was happening. When we were finished, I felt as dirty as a pig. She wanted me to come every Wednesday afternoon like clockwork.
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
My comrade and I descend. The man on the road is tired. He is looking up into the sky. He is wincing in pain. We get closer and closer. His mouth is agape. He is breathing us in. We penetrate his heart.
A few months later the professor was again observing Bill and Mark going up the hill. He noted the difference in time. He calmly consulted his formula. He calculated a 95% chance of collision. There had never been such a high probability. The professor rushed out of the house. Again he almost tripped and fell on the tripod. He set himself up on the side of the road. He made sure the lighting was adequate. He programmed the continuous drive. He heard the sound of two engines coming down the hill. He couldn't stop smiling. He was on the verge of a photographic masterpiece. Better than the shot of the two cars that got stuck trying to get into the same tollbooth. This would be a series of pictures framed and hung in a massive room in a famous art gallery. "Dueling postmen" he would call it. "No," he thought to himself. "Large Postman Collider. An Experiment in Physics."
Mark and Bill meanwhile were flipping through their respective letters. Mark looked up and caught sight of the old man bending over again and looking through his viewfinder. Mark sped up. He was going to get a glimpse of the eagle before it flew off. He floored the gas. Oblivious to the dangers beyond, he was rushing past the hedgerow. He craned his neck and saw a giant blue and white eagle on the side of Bill's truck. The professor hit the shutter button. Mark frantically swerved. The camera's continuous drive clicked and clicked. Mark hit the brakes. The truck slid heading straight for the professor. Its wheels locked. It surfed on the unswept gravel of the westbound lane of Profile Road and thankfully stopped before crossing the center line. Just as a UPS truck headed east. The driver saw the mass of white coming from his left and instinctively swerved away. Right into the professor. The old man was launched into the sky. Mark watched in horror as the body sailed a good 60 feet before flailing onto the ground. Mark looked at the UPS truck. The driver was paralyzed. Mark looked back at the body. He drove the 60 feet between them. There was no time to run. Reaching the remains of the professor, Mark curbed the wheels. He put the gear in park. He pulled the hand brake. He shut the engine and took out the keys. He didn't want anybody accusing him of not following proper dismounting procedures. He hopped down to the body and saw there was little to be done. He called for an ambulance.
A retired mathematician lived on Profile directly across from the hill. He specialized in probability theory. One day while sipping a cup of tea in his kitchen he realized that two mail trucks coming down the hill on two separate roads that met at the bottom and had to stop to service boxes at the exact same spot could potentially be rolling down the hill at the same time and if one carrier wasn't careful enough could be observed engaging in a significant but nevertheless comical collision. The professor happened to be, as Mark knew from his mail, an amateur photographer. He set about recording the times at which he observed the carriers proceeding up the hill and the times at which he observed them coming down. He noticed that if both regular carriers were on duty a collision would never occur. Both of them were too slow. But if one particularly fast substitute carrier, namely Mark, was coupled with the other regular carrier, namely Bill, he could calculate the probability of a collision based on the times at which he saw them climbing up the hill. This excited the professor immensely.
Indiana was perplexed. She sputtered out the same reassuring words I had just used.
"No," I said. "I just got your skirt dirty." I checked my hand. The moonlight betrayed a streak of ash. Indiana stretched the fabric of her skirt. There was a small smudge.
"Don't worry," she said. "I'll have it removed." We laughed.
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 road 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 "road." 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.
Help me maintain the "Road" page alive...
If you love women and art...
Michal is importing art...is he nuts?
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:
