Michal is mulling over the soundness of complementing his lofty Fiction Corpus with a story about christian art prints; cites fatigue
Posted:
I think highly of the feasibility of using English as a common language for the world. I don't accept the uninspiring blueprint with which the English language is presented for study.
Fortifying a person's finesse for a language isn't like introducing a stronger steel. A language is not just an instrument that you can teach yourself to use with greater amounts of precision. A shared language can't be unlinked from the competing values of a group 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 him out of its cultural context. A proper teacher must have a blueprint for introducing it; the prudent student ventures out to seek it.
A dictionary has the potential to be an influential tool. A decent dictionary will describe a language based on a specific corpus, a set of writing of varying scope and consistency. Such a corpus could contain everything from a book about literature to some real adult fiction novels. I lost many a sleepless night forging my "measly" Fiction Corpus in order to form a unique genre 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 drafted a million words and I have scrutinized them, reshaping them - not merely to teach the English language but to be an advocate for the human soul, and to goad 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...
Four days after I arrived in Poland, the largely Catholic country was celebrating Corpus Christi, complete with solemn processions down the street. Three days later I had made a solemn vow that if given the chance to express it, I would show love to a woman I had only just met.
Though I felt fully formed as a writer, and had been trained in visual language, it was my first time with a professional camera in my hands. I was just learning the ins and outs and had come to Europe to find as diverse a selection of subject matter as possible, preferably something that fit my aesthetic devotion to promoting body acceptance. Enter Margo.
From America I brought with me the American can-do spirit. She saw the car that I had bought, the terrible camp stove I had borrowed, and my sundry canned goods and challenged me to make-do. In my optimism I assured her that if we lacked for anything I would make up the difference. She assured me that if she lacked for anything she would find her way to the nearest airport and fly home. Luckily that never happened.
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 City
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 city in some kind of way.
If you want to communicate an idea using the word city, 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 city is located in the fabric of a language, the better you will be at exploiting its cultural power.
Pronunciation of City
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the word city.
Video of me pronouncing "city."
Definition of City
I have yet to publish the definition of city.
I'm sure it won't take too long.
Common use of city in illustrative example sentences
I have yet to come up with a fourth sentence using the word city.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a fifth sentence using the word city.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a sixth sentence using the word city.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a seventh sentence using the word city.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
Usage of City 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 city.
That doesn't mean it's not high on my list.
Table of Frequency for the Word "City."
This table lists in descending order the total number of times that the word cityand 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 city, 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 #707
twitter - no wonder you didnt call. i got a new number. i work for the city now. family services. i moved too. yorba linda. come visit.
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's a delicate situation going on right now between the city government and the military; it's being exploited - that's all you have to know."
"They're trying to stop the terrorists from moving north; they don't care about the southeast that much - terrorists are all over the train yards - Lipski doesn't even know what to do about it. He's got terrorists in the southeast (around the train yards); he's got terrorists in the west (around all the industrial parks) - but at least they're south of the river; he's in the north, coming down; he's got his artillery on the north bank of the old river, on the other side of which, sections of Center City have been evacuated; others have not; some are full of terrorists; others are not. What's for damn sure is that south of us, across the main river, the Old Town is completely infested. Government buildings have been taken over, et cetera, et cetera. Lipski's got his hands full; he's got absolutely no idea what the fuck a terrorist even looks like. A collaborator could be anyone: if you're walking down the street with a gun, you're collaborating - you're not trying to defend yourself: you're collaborating. If you're looting a store, or robbing your neighbors, or otherwise committing some kind of offense: you're collaborating.
When the terrorists invaded Poland, they proved just as practical as the Germans. They brought machine guns, grenades, mortars, and assault rifles. They brought swords for beheading hostages, not for any romantic reason, but because they wouldn't have to waste ammunition that way (they didn't bring enough of it). In fact, they didn't bring anything with them from space: that would've been impossible. They had to buy everything they needed on location. In Poland, in the city of Wroclaw, one of their main suppliers happened to be none other than Baron Cohen-Krupnik, the man who, once upon a time, had sold Jesus silk stockings in bulk every Monday at eight o'clock in the morning. Heroin was a rather lucrative trade in peacetime; in times of war, however, arms were more like it.
When the President of Wroclaw, no doubt as a result of public opinion (and in a valiant effort to save his own name), bestowed upon your father the unprecedented title of 'Defender of Wroclaw,' as well as the Keys to the City, the gift was accepted by Stalin in the name of Jesus Bishop. The surname proved an effective shield against authority: few people knew Jesus's family name and even fewer people were telling. Your father was never publicly identified as the leader of the Confederation until long after the Battle of Wroclaw was over. By then, he had renewed his U.S. passport, had successfully applied for a worker's permit, and no longer was in violation of Polish immigration law: he was untouchable, sacrosanct; he was not Jesus Bishop.
Jesus took the Krupnik's threats very seriously. There was nothing in his face that showed it - except for the tension maybe, but, then again, that was shared by all. It was also very dark in the room. Electricity was unavailable, and Jesus had no reason to think that his face, or one of its occasional twitches, was betraying any kind of nervousness or fear. Jesus was afraid - if only because he knew that there was no booby-trap: that was a bluff. Jesus had no idea whom to expect while sitting on that back step. If army intelligence officers had shown up to collect, Jesus would've been rather embarrassed to explain that their weapons were rigged to explode. They could've charged him with treason - not that this was no longer a threat, but Jesus's situation was considerably changed. His business partner hadn't been smart enough to consider the possible effects of Jesus's ignorance. As a result, when and if he were going to find out that he had been tricked, there'd be no telling what he'd do. He might have gone crazy; he might have told the Accountant, or his bodyguards (whatever the case might have been), to kill him. That was unacceptable. Jesus had to figure out what to do, but, while the Krupnik wrote his letter and signed it, while the Nigel signed it, and while the Krupnik drove him down to where the Accountant was, Jesus had absolutely no idea.
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.
One of its branches joined the main river above Whitehall, and a lower branch below the Houses of Parliament, thus creating the island of Westminster. Now back in the day, the Tyburn supplied London with drinking water, which was transported to the city by means of a most romantically natural system: a series of conduits made of elm trees. Now apparently, the English elm, if not as stately as our native American, is at least as durable under water - however, I did notice a very small but definite split in the bottom of our sculling boat; you shall have to investigate upon your return. But while you are in London, consider the fate of the Tyburn: it has disappeared; but: it still exists.
I began to wonder: was he an offshoot of that truly noble stock? Would he be a proud yeoman whose gods were Roman gods? whose virtues were simplicity and frugality? and who would defend his country at the drop of a hat? so that he might return peacefully to his plow?
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 2, The Second Day, Part 1, Labor & Economic Reform, Section 7, Being Pessimistic, Paragraph 1, Clause 3
Today has been a very long day for me: I had to wake at six in the morning to make the early train to the city. Nike's party was at seven o'clock in the evening, and after stopping for lunch at the station I went down to the dormitories on Prospect Street, looking for Luke of course. He's directing a musical revue for the university, as part of a temporary position that he thinks he'll have till the end of next term (with any luck, they'll want to take him for good and he'll be silly enough to do it). I'll never understand why he agreed to live in those dormitories, surrounded by the most unattractive facilities; at least he has his own bathroom, and I meant to take advantage of it, having tried unsuccessfully to sleep on the train. My hair was a complete mess. And it's much longer by the way; you haven't seen it but it almost reaches my shoulders.
Who knows? Perhaps Nike is a totally different man when he speaks French. I don't know exactly how well he speaks it, but I'm sure that - in the absence of complete mastery - Nike must be at least a little bit more diffident. On the other hand, it might just mean that he resorts to a different personality. He might be able to exploit his status as a flashy, young American. I don't know how flashy, young Americans are perceived in France - I don't think they're much of a novelty - but I suppose it depends on whom you ask. Among the city youth, for example, quote-unquote urban manners from America might just be very appealing - not necessarily when they're accompanied by an actual American, of course.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 2, The Second Day, Part 1, Labor & Economic Reform, Section 4, The Male Personality, Paragraph 2
So the industry makes a big deal out of its own accomplishments. That's why, if you're not a rose-grower you don't really hear about the Rose Selections. It's a niche market, which means that there's a steady audience, that certain people will always be buying roses: why should the judges be worried about what's going to be popular?" I told Macy that simplicity is a virtue, and if the Rose Selectors wish to commend a grower for developing an easy flower to grow, then it lies entirely within their prerogative. Nike agreed, pointing out that the Rose Selectors were judging roses, "not rose growers. If they were doing that, then maybe they'd give the award to someone who could successfully grow a difficult rose." Macy agreed that it was entirely natural for the judges to compliment a rose that was easy to grow. "But that's not my point. My point is: why isn't there a prize for rose growers? That kind of prize would reward merit, it would raise public awareness of these talented people and their art form, but it wouldn't serve the economy and therefore it would never be subjected to its forces." Nike stopped to consider this, but I already knew that Macy was mistaken. Not only was he being idealistic, he was being plain wrong. I asked him why he'd want to divorce prize-giving from the promotion of goods. What good would that serve? "It would serve the ideal," he replied; "it would preserve the purity of the prize itself." I turned away from him and stared in front of me. I told him he was being foolish; he was defining a prize as something periodically given by an institution to members of a select community. I told him to consider a prize given daily from one person to another; I told him to consider marriage. "Love," I said, "is a gift freely given, but marriage is a prize for which people apply, for which some qualify and some do not. Whoever be the judge, the prize is awarded on the basis of merit, and the banns of marriage proclaim the lucky victors. Do you think you can divorce marriage from its promotion of life? How fruitful is the marriage without children? Tell me honestly, is your ideal marriage incapable of producing children?" I did not turn to face him; instead, I got up and went for a drink.
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.
Tatum found the card. She slipped it into her pocket. Putting on her breeches, she tried to turn on the light. It wouldn't work. She opened the door. The lamps in the corridor were dim. She realized power was on reserve. She checked her PDA. The clock said three hundred thirty hours of night left. She shook her head. This would never happen on the near side. Power stations on the peaks of eternal light guaranteed electricity.
Francesco admired this. He saw a bit of himself in the tenacity that Ferrari naively expected others to fear. It was made all the more endearing by the fact that Ferrari was not very strong. Francesco, only a handful of years older, was already famous for bending bars with his bare hands. He had no need for a limp-wristed knight. Being somewhat enamored of the boy's beauty, Francesco made him one of his flautists.
The car was back; the woman, in front, turning, slowing, seeing the headlights beginning to bathe her brilliantly-an attractive girl-a witch for all we knew hiding behind a mask of maidenhood-stood entranced, a pale face with a round shape-a clean, sharp jaw-a beautiful, blunted chin. What being could possibly harm her? The moon hid, shamed to see a mortal daughter of Eve walk with such authority. It was a proud mien on a worried-at the same time, not unprepared woman-an uncompromising beauty-who betrayed little fear upon her unwelted brow.
The boy had known to keep quiet. When he watched the masked robber walk away with his flaut, Lorenzo noticed something peculiar about him. It had been a bittersweet revelation. There was indeed something to be admired in such audacity.
A brigand conceals his face. Rarely does he think to disguise his gait. Lorenzo, like his father and his mother, led with his shoulders. Ferrari, more than anybody else, led with his loins.
Barbara peered into the back. Nike's supine body seemed to prove Luka right. She thought about it. "Thank you," she whispered. She came to the door. She opened it. She pulled her cloak tight. She climbed in. She grabbed the door. It swung closed.
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.
ALICE: No.
FLETCHER: Good. If they were, I don't know what I'd do. I think I'd die.
ALICE: It's not heaven.
FLETCHER: Are you sure?
ALICE: I'm positive.
FLETCHER: How am I supposed to know? I've never set foot beyond these waters.
ALICE: An island is not all that different from a city. Most of what you need is within walking distance. Even here, you have taxis.
FLETCHER: That's true.
ALICE: You bump into people you know. You're surrounded by strangers.
FLETCHER: We like to call them 'pirates with cameras.'
– ACT I, lines 470-479
FLETCHER: That's a good story.
MS. JACKSON: From what could be gathered.
LESBIAN: I was taken advantage of once. I was at the Kammermusiksaal one day - actually, it was the night: the evening. It was fall: late fall: October. I had just attended a concert - a very good one - chamber music: it's my favorite. Anyway, this was Berlin and everything is very neat there - at least in that part of the city: the cultural part with the museums and everything. I didn't think it dangerous just to cross the street: Tiergartenstraße - to take a stroll in the park - Tiergartenpark. It's not like it was that late or anything. It was October. Naturally, the days were short.
FLETCHER: And the nights were very long-winded.
MS. JACKSON: Fletcher!
LESBIAN: I'm sorry. I don't think it's going to be very good.
MS. JACKSON: Please continue, Homo.
LESBIAN: This man came up to me in an overcoat and exposed himself. Can you believe that?
FLETCHER: Nice.
ALICE: How big was it?
– ACT I, lines 180-189
ALICE: You don't have to know your neighbors. It's the city without the smog or the noise. They've been magically replaced by mountains and beaches.
FLETCHER: If only you could work here as an actress. Unfortunately, I don't think our theatre is quite worthy of you.
ALICE: They don't do much Shakespeare.
FLETCHER: Do you like performing on stage?
ALICE: I enjoy it. It's only a job: like carpentry or farming.
FLETCHER: You've never held a hoe, have you?
– ACT I, lines 480-485
ALICE: You shouldn't be.
FLETCHER: Why not?
ALICE: I'm married.
FLETCHER: So?
ALICE: This is my honeymoon.
FLETCHER: I'm ambitious. There's nothing wrong with that.
ALICE: I do appreciate the fact that you're honest.
FLETCHER: Tell me about your home.
ALICE: It's a city like any other. What else do you want to know?
FLETCHER: Tell me everything. What is it like? Is every girl there as pretty as you?
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
My friends kept telling me I was crazy. They said no matter how bad it is in the city at least I have friends. In the village I would have nobody. It was true. I didn't argue. I didn't want them to know what was on my mind. I was thinking what good are friends if they can't protect you. I knew it wasn't their fault.
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.
I avoided Parker for the rest of the summer. I didn't mean anything by it. I thought I should give her space. I was surprised when Jeff mentioned it to me later. He told me Parker was convinced I thought she was a slut. I told him I thought nothing of the kind. I asked him to explain things to Parker. I don't know if he ever did.
After camp was over I went back to the city. I bumped into Sarah one day at the hair salon. She told me she had seen Parker recently. She wasn't doing so well. She had just broken up with Matt.
Winds blow westward. My comrade and I settle onto a sea of ceramic tiles. A city. Falling from the gutters we encounter dirt, shit sties, disparity. Men languish on the streets as carriages pass them by. "Where are the fighters?" We ask, "Where is the courage?" The other spirits look at us and shrug.
Problems arose when a new development was begun at the western end of Profile at Login Road. That particular section of Login had fallen under the purview of City Rural Route 15 as the result of a union grievance involving guaranteed work-hours. Never mind that the rest of City Rural Route 15 was ten miles away.
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 city 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 "city." I hope I can get it done sometime soon. -Michal
If a 45-year-old businesswoman and hard working mother of three kids is going to pose nude for a calendar, it's gonna have to be a good one. Margo didn't start a coffee shop called the Vagina Cafe to win her favors from the establishment. Even as she dishes out prizes to the 20 women who placed last in the twentienth anniversary run of her town's biggest road race, her business, unlike everyone else, doesn't get mentioned. She was an official sponsor for Christ's sake! But the announcer just couldn't swallow his patriarchy and get the words "Vagina Cafe" out of his mouth. That's not something a proper gentleman would say in front of a crowd of humble God-fearing "ladies" who cherish their modesty! And a Body Acceptance Calendar is certainly not what a humble God-fearing book-seller like a Barnes and Noble would put on their shelves! So how do I expect to sell this in the mainstream? Maybe if you download the free versions a thousand billion times it might help. Start downloading.
Your help keeps the "City" page alive...
If you love women and art...
Michal is importing Polish art...is he meshugge?
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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