Michal is debating the feasibility of compounding his humongous Fiction Corpus with a history of new fiction; cites fatigue
Posted:
I can't reject the potency of implementing English as a common language for the world. I don't have faith in the pleasureless recipe by which the English language is presented for study.
Reenforcing one's skills with a language isn't like producing a smoother paper. A language - a spoken language - is not just an instrument that you can learn to exploit with a greater amount of precision. A shared language cannot be ripped from the professed knowledge of a clan 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.
To make a person recite English is to deprive her of its cultural context. A proper educator must create a strategy for introducing it; the insightful pupil ventures out to seek it.
A dictionary has the potential to be an influential tool. A decent dictionary will define a language based on a specific corpus, a body of written language of varying size and consistency. This corpus may include everything from a book about literature to some very short stories. I lost many a night developing my "gigantic" Fiction Corpus to form a new sort 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 pieced together a million words and I have reduced them, reshaping them - not just to teach the English language but to describe the human soul, and to provoke that soul or spirit not just to recite but to happen.
Author's Note: I have been enjoined from sharing the details of my true romance adventure until such time that the other party is prepared to present her perspective on the affair arrangement...
On the second to last weekend of June, 2011, I had joined my fellow naturists at a gathering of the Naturist Society in rural Pennsylvania. The next day I left on a flight for Europe. By the end of the week I had unexpectedly met another naturist, a woman, who was destined to accompany me on a tour of Europe's great naturist resorts.
I had come to Europe to experience European naturism, a movement whose philosophy matched my aesthetic of body acceptance and whose organizational structure and leadership I had thought almost exclusively restricted to the western half of the continent. I was shocked to learn that naturism had an official home in Poland, a country not especially known for its liberal culture. I was less shocked to discover that the home was owned by a Dutchman, but even more shocked to learn that it had been largely built by Margo.
I had an American passport. She didn't. And the fact that I was driving a car with Polish license plates gave her ample opportunity to point out the difference. It wasn't just police and border guards who ethnically profiled me. Regular folks did it too. One campsite owner didn't shake my hand until he realized I was an American. By that point, I had trained myself to use a simplified English, something that more closely resembled what passes for a lingua franca in Europe these days. Something Margo was trying very hard to master.
There were times during our trip when I thought there might not be a happy ending. There were times when disaster was close and I wondered whether I hadn't made a mistake. I wondered whether fear, anger or sadness might triumph and one of us would have to finished the journey alone. Though I dangled from the cliffs of Normady I was saved. Though the lights went out I rode on. Though I ran the tires down to the wire I was okay. We drove home in one piece. We came home happy. We had started the process of learning how to listen and the sound of it was beautiful. We could be sure that we were ready to conquer the devils that abuse us no matter how long it would take.
6,000 miles across Europe with a complete stranger
During our trip across Europe, Margo very bravely opened up to me and to the camera. It was a difficult thing to do considering the scars that she carries. I wanted to share with the world her often joyful, often sad, often angry but always liberating experience except that the Internet is full of pictures of naked women and men and full of trolls who abuse them.
I realized that what I really need to point out is not the openness that Margo and I cultivated between ourselves, but the darkness that continues to surround us. When I censor nudity, I do so in a way that does not compromise the integrity of the human body. In censoring the photographs that Margo and I took during our trip, I was quick to notice that in those pictures where Margo was at her most open, at her most unguarded and most relaxed, in a word, when she was herself and basking in the sun I was forced to blacken her completely.
Why does our society drive people into darkness? Why can we not accept ourselves as we are? Why can we not accept our bodies? Have we truly become eunuchs? Or are we capable of defying the sickness that pits us against each other? Together we could conquer the devils that abuse us.
Whether you enjoy being nude or not, whether you've been photographed nude or not, but especially if, for you, like for Margo, it's something you never thought you would do, consider submitting your own photograph to be published in a censored manner as a form of protest against the ubiquitous presence of the human body on the internet, naked or not, that is published and duplicated ad infinitum without context and without regard for the identity or the needs of the individual being depicted.
Michal's Dictionary: Understanding the word Sea
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 sea in some kind of way.
If you want to communicate an idea using the word sea, 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 sea is located in the fabric of a language, the better you will be at exploiting its cultural power.
Pronunciation of Sea
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the word sea.
Video of me pronouncing "sea."
Definition of Sea
I have yet to publish the definition of sea.
I'm sure it won't take too long.
Common use of sea in illustrative example sentences
I have yet to come up with a third sentence using the word sea.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a fourth sentence using the word sea.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a fifth sentence using the word sea.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a sixth sentence using the word sea.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a seventh sentence using the word sea.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
Usage of Sea 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 sea.
That doesn't mean it's not high on my list.
Table of Frequency for the Word "Sea."
This table lists in descending order the total number of times that the word seaand 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 sea, 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.
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.
The only problem was that Jesus needed not only papal confirmation but also permission from temporal authorities, which meant, in this case, Hitler Panzer-Tank the Third, who, as chairman of its central planning committee, was running AMOC. Now, dear old Hitler had been courting the Vatican's favor for years - the new Trappist monastery in Bohemia was only the latest of his many extravagant and more-than-generous gifts. In exchange for continued support - and by support was meant not describing his war effort as unjust, Hitler Panzer-Tank was more than prepared for concessions, including a permanent and veto-wielding seat in the Presidium, rights-of-way for members of the clergy and religious orders, and, best of all, land grants.
Our most important surveillance work was in Wroclaw's Town Square, close to the Rathaus, which Jesus had thoroughly searched during our defense of the Old Town. Finding out where the building archives were, Jesus had made copies of all the blueprints for properties owned by anyone named Krupnik. One property was particularly interesting. It turned out, the Rathaus Club, a dance club in the middle of Wroclaw's Town Square (close to the Town Hall, or, in German, Rathaus), not surprisingly, was indeed owned by Leonard Cohen-Krupnik. This was the dance club which Columbus had played the very same night he met my sister's killer. It was very exclusive. Both the basement and the ground floor had popular dance floors. They were large and spacious; the ceiling on the ground floor was high enough to accommodate a crystal ball two meters in diameter. The second floor was a private lounge for private guests only. The third and fourth floors had private rooms and offices. Leonard Cohen-Krupnik was often there when he was in Wroclaw. He did business in the center office on the fourth floor. His window looked over the alleyway that went through the buildings in the middle of Town Square. From one of those buildings, our cameras looked on.
It was a gift from God: a challenge for enterprising men like your father. It was a grace granted Earth and Mars and in between. It was something unexceptional: commonplace and yet needing to be treasured. It was sorrowful and joyful. It was painful and painless - the joy of emancipation expected. It was happiness waiting to be unlocked - a beggar in bad straits. It was a noble man, a noble woman: nobility impoverished. It was rich, exceedingly wealthy and privileged - seated in front of me, it looked at me and blushed. It needed love. It needed to be raped: plucked from the ungrateful ground in which it found itself and replanted. It was a miracle we met. It was God's will. It was your mother, my child: your beautiful mother, Zoe Guderian, after whom you are named.
One time, for example, during a telephone conversation Jesus insisted upon (Zoe had promised to call him back at nine o'clock but didn't), your mother had once again been crying about how worthless she was and Jesus, having contemplated the nature of Zoe's 'disease,' had been trying to cheer her up with some scornful humor - sarcasm, as they call it, which Jesus had tried to give in a goodhearted fashion, which failed, of course, despite the fact that she had laughed several times - and then, having been told to stop 'clowning around,' Jesus said, with all seriousness (and with no idea what the consequences would be), "Do you know what your disease is called?"
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.
"There's one across the river at Wilson and Lexington. My aunt's latest creation is undergoing trials right now. They take two full years, testing everything possible: from disease resistance, to fragrance, to color, to the form of the flower and the bud, how it grows, you name it. The thing is, they want a rose that's beautiful and easy to grow; that way, it'll sell." Macy had a quibble with this. Of course he loved the idea of prize-winning roses, and he especially appreciated the fact that the Rose Selections took two whole years to make their judgment. "I think that's wonderfully scientific, and so incredibly patient." Most other prizes, he supposed, seemed to rely solely on people's opinions, although prize juries and judging panels that made decisions in camera were, on the whole, much more preferable than organizations like "that awful Academy that has its members mail in their votes. How do you know they even saw the nominees? that they weren't bribed?" But quite apart from the quality of judging, Macy had a problem with the way all prizes seemed to be geared toward the market. "I'm not surprised that mass-produced culture suffers from this disease; making a movie is expensive; the industry employs a lot of people, and if things don't sell, there's no turnover: people are out of business.
I went back inside. Indiana was still sitting next to her husband. I waited in the back. I walked around. I shuffled. Intermission was over. I went back to my seat wearing an affected smile. "Is he asleep?" I said. But Indiana didn't say anything. It seemed like she was nodding her head; but she did it nervously: it was more like a series of quick shakes, as if the ground were shaking underneath her. Then she abruptly turned away and I sat down. I began staring in front of me. I started biting my lower lip. And then I realized: I had just seen Indiana doing the same thing. I realized how worried her mien was.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 13, Apprehension, Paragraph 8
Nike was very impatient. He spent the rest of his time at the hospital writhing around with only one thing on his mind. He wanted nothing more than to get out and start searching once again for that mysterious tormentor - not the Bulgarian: at this point, he was no longer concerned with them or even Luka. Jean-Christian could go to hell and back (and find nothing) and Nike would feel absolutely fine - that is, he would still be very angry, and, if he saw Luka on the street, he would probably punch his face. But most of all, he resented Christian's unwillingness - or shall we say, professional inability - to help him: he alone held the answer for which Nike was now almost ready to hurt himself.
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.
"We know only the mountain from which your ancestor descended," they said. "It lies directly to the south. It is blocked by the armies of Rusas, whose father captured our citadel. Perhaps your watchtower lies to the southeast, for people there speak the way you do. The Hellenes of the sea would know more. They travel widely."
"I need somebody like you to do a little independent research. Manpower is a luxury around here. I have a dozen or so informants on my payroll. Unfortunately, I don't trust most of them.
Luka said, "I was wondering." He looked back. Nike was dozing off. "Wake up." Luka put down the pipe. He reached through the bucket seats. He slapped Nike on the knee.
Nike jerked. "Huh?" Luka slapped him again. "Whaddaya wan...?"
"I was wondering. I have this problem. I need Coke. Are you listening? I need to borrow some money." There was no response. Luka waited. He shouted.
Nike moaned. Without opening his eyes, he murmured, "What is it?"
Luka pulled the handle on his own door. It wouldn't open. It was locked. Luka unlocked it. He opened it. He tried to jump out. His seat belt held him back. He unbuckled it. He got out. He saw Barbara disappear into the forest. She had run around the car. Her instinct was to continue heading in the same direction. If she had only gone the way she had come, she might have been spared. The Reine was a hundred yards to the east through a dark stand of trees.
I looked through the window. The shadow of trees-immense, floating, rustling things-terrified me. The feeling grew. It stretched towards me like a tube of darkness. It burst through the window. It skewered me. In vain, I grasped at the door. I was pulled into the middle of the seat.
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 and FLETCHER exit. LESBIAN and MS. JACKSON enter with their tea.)
MS. JACKSON: Tell me more about Egypt. You were saying something about locusts.
LESBIAN: When I arrived in November the country was under attack. Locusts were everywhere: in the north, in the south, in the east, in the west. Farmers who couldn't afford pesticides were burning tires to survive. It just so happened I arrived in Cairo at the exact moment that the swarm was passing through on its way to the Red Sea.
MS. JACKSON: Where did they come from?
LESBIAN: West Africa. They crossed the Sahara to get there. They were very hungry. They would fall onto your plate and get stuck in your glass. By the time I got to Aswan, the regional governor offered a two hundred Egyptian pound reward for any information leading to the destruction of a swarm.
MS. JACKSON: Did you find one?
LESBIAN: No.
MS. JACKSON: Does that sort of thing happen often? A swarm of locusts sounds so biblical.
LESBIAN: The very next year I took a trip to Hawai'i. They were suffering from a gall wasp invasion.
MS. JACKSON: What's a gall wasp?
– ACT I, lines 496-504
LUKE: I don't want to be the one spillin' secrets, but you might as well know. It all started when her grandmother was raped by the Japanese on Western Samoa.
LESBIAN: During the war?
LUKE: Whenever it was that they occupied the island.
LESBIAN: The Japanese never occupied Western Samoa. They did have plans to invade, but Midway changed all that. They tried to capture Port Moresby instead. Unfortunately for them, what they thought was a motor track turned out to be a mule trail, one which no Australian had dared traverse in over twenty years. They say the Japanese soldiers eventually turned to cannibalism. I thought about doing the hike myself. Five days is a bit much. The dry season was ending. I decided against it.
LUKE: Are you saying the Japanese never invaded Western Samoa?
LESBIAN: I was on Tarawa in the Gilbert Islands. That was as far as they got. You must be confused.
LUKE: I'm not confused; I'm sheepish. It wouldn't be the first time.
LESBIAN: The music box is missing. It looks as though another heirloom's been stolen.
LUKE: I'm not the one who took it: that's for sure. See you at the airport, mate.
– ACT II, lines 574-582
LESBIAN: I'm proud of that.
MS. JACKSON: I want to show you love. I want to give you a home you can finally call your own.
LESBIAN: I know.
MS. JACKSON: We can be together. We don't have to hide. We can live here. This is my house.
LESBIAN: I understand it's important to you. You're a part of this place. You're a part of its charm, its beauty, its isolation, and its loneliness. I am not. I have lived a different kind of separation.
MS. JACKSON: Leave that life. Settle down with me.
LESBIAN: I desire you with every breath of life. I need you out on the open sea.
MS. JACKSON: Why can't you stop?
LESBIAN: Asking me to stop is madness. Darling, if you were to abandon this place, what would it mean? You'd be leaving the site of your seduction: the land of your shame. Who's to say we wouldn't return? By then, you would be a different woman. Is that what you're afraid of? Rebirth?
MS. JACKSON: Hold me. Never let me go.
– ACT I, lines 909-918
FLETCHER: No.
ALICE: It was at the bottom of my bag.
FLETCHER: What?
ALICE: They actually searched it at the airport.
FLETCHER: No.
ALICE: They didn't find it.
FLETCHER: What?
ALICE: I had no idea it was there.
FLETCHER: No.
ALICE: Can you imagine the shock I felt when I saw it?
– ACT II, lines 131-140
FLETCHER: There is a house on Norfolk that no longer stands. Its eaves of pine were reduced to ash. Its worthy frame that I helped build collapsed in a huge fury of smoke and fire that I helped start. I watched it burning from the top of Mount Pitt. I was too ashamed to go any closer. I was there in the room the night my father planned that terrible justice with his friends. I heard them goading each other into teaching their fellow man not to cooperate with the Australian government. It was madness I heard from their lips. They were the drunken lips of dogs waiting to pounce. I said nothing. I did nothing to stop them. When the police came, I lied and said I knew nothing. I climbed Mount Pitt out of morbid curiosity to see what I had wrought. That image of the house whose beams I placed - whose trusses I tied - in the distance - engulfed in flames - is seared upon my mind. I did nothing to stop it. Do you know how sorry I am? If I told you that somebody died in that fire, would it be in your power to forgive me?
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
Proctor called the cops. Even the captain showed up. They did a thorough search. They found nothing. The captain suggested leaving a patrol car. Proctor didn't like the idea. He didn't know who he could trust. Bob suggested he take Proctor's convertible for the night. "That way they won't think you're home," he said. "I'll pick you up in the morning. We'll have breakfast."
Proctor agreed. He threw Bob the keys. "It's out back," he said. Two minutes later an explosion rocked the neighborhood. The convertible was on fire.
Steve, Peter and I wandered around for a while. We spotted Mary walking down the sidewalk. We didn't stop to say hello. We went to a bar. There was barely anyone there. A guy on the patio was seated with his dog. Steve was a dog owner. It gave him a reason to chat. I focused on the bar girl but not to my benefit.
Proctor found the key. He decided a man carrying a carpet was probable cause. He entered the apartment. It didn't take long to find a photo. It was vic number three. Proctor called in the cavalry. He ordered a search. His phone rang. It was the captain. "Vic number two's fingerprints were in the database," He said. "He got busted for cocaine three years prior. I talked to his bondsman. Says an artist by the name of John Gamble put up security for him." At the sound of the name Proctor audibly swallowed. He wondered if the captain had heard.
She took my hand. She put it on top of her skirt. She rubbed it. She moved her head. Lifting herself, she turned to face me. She drew one leg onto the cushion of the love seat. Her skirt stretched. One side scrunched up around her hips. I caught a whiff of something. I wondered if it were the smell of her crotch. The thought aroused me.
Indiana let go of my hands. She embraced me. I felt her soft hair against my face. I closed my eyes. I let out a heavy sigh. It was Indiana's turn to rock me. I crumbled. I was a baby in her arms. She led me around the car. She opened the door. She tucked me into my seat.
Indiana drove back to our house. We sat for a moment parked in the driveway. I opened my door.
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 sea 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 "sea." 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.
Help me keep the "Sea" page...
If you love women and art...
Michal's exporting Polish art...is he wacky?
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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