Michal is kicking around the viability of strengthening his noble Fiction Corpus with a book about science fiction films; cites fatigue
Posted:
I believe in the viability of exploiting English as an international language for the world. I don't believe in the fatiguing scheme by which English is presented for study.
Boosting a person's know-how with a language isn't like developing a tougher piece of bronze. A language - a spoken language - isn't just a tool that you can teach yourself to wield with a greater amount of precision. A spoken language can't be partitioned from the competing values of a society of which it is a description. A language isn't recited; it happens - and keeps happening as long as a circle of people keeps using it.
Teaching a person to recite English is to cheat him out of its cultural context. A proper educator must develop a strategy for introducing it; the smartest student goes out to seek it.
A dictionary can be an influential tool. The best dictionaries describe words based on a particular corpus, a set of written works of various size and consistency. This corpus could contain anything from a book about literature to some panchatantra stories translated into modern English. I lost many a night developing my "king-sized" Fiction Corpus to form a precise type 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 shaped a million words and I have divided them, reframing them - not merely to teach the English tongue but to defend the human spirit, and to encourage that soul or spirit not just to recite but to happen.
A Better Way to Define English: Grouped into Eight Types of Words
Type 7 Answers the Question, "Why?"
The 8 types of words can be associated with the days of the week in the Acceptance calendar. Saturday, or Armed Forces of Democracy Day respresents the "Why"
Michal's Dictionary: Understanding the word Unless
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 unless in some kind of way.
If you want to communicate an idea using the word unless, 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 unless is located in the fabric of a language, the better you will be at exploiting its cultural power.
Pronunciation of Unless
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the word unless.
Video of me pronouncing "unless."
Definition of Unless
I have yet to publish the definition of unless.
I'm sure it won't take too long.
Common use of unless in illustrative example sentences
I have yet to come up with another sentence using the word unless.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a third sentence using the word unless.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a fourth sentence using the word unless.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a fifth sentence using the word unless.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a sixth sentence using the word unless.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a seventh sentence using the word unless.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
Usage of Unless 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 unless.
That doesn't mean it's not high on my list.
Table of Frequency for the Word "Unless."
This table lists in descending order the total number of times that the word unlessand 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 unless, 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 #2456
if mcdonalds stole the qvc.leg the night he killed his wife the battery has to be low. unless light from a wildfire can recharge it.
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 fucking military is collaborating - do you understand that? They're ready to shell the city - their own fucking city! Can you believe that? Instead of having the balls to go from house to house looking for those faggots, they're gonna drop shells! What the fuck is that? That's why they're trying to evacuate the Old Town. They're sayin', 'Leave your homes: go north.' They think if they evacuate Center City and Old Town by having all those people filter through the northern checkpoints, all they're gonna have left is terrorists. That's bullshit. Unless they say they're gonna shell it, not everyone's gonna leave. Not the old people, anyway: they're gonna sit at home until the radio says they're gonna drop shells - even then they're not gonna move. Anyway, who the fuck's gonna say that? That would be idiotic. That would be like saying, 'Hey, terrorists: wake up for the invasion' - so they can slip away? What the fuck is that? The only terrorist you can recognize is the one that's shooting at you. Otherwise, who the fuck is it? Nobody - it's somebody without papers - I don't know - somebody walkin' off with loot. All they gotta do is drop their weapons and voila: they melt away. It's fuckin' bullshit. It's not fuckin' fair is what it is - but that's life. That's business. Like you, you motherfuckin' pip-squeak: what the fuck is your problem, man? You have got balls to screw me up."
"Of course," I laughed. "You're the last Panzer-Tank heir." I was about to say: unless your half-brother and the rest of your family are still alive on Mars - but I stopped myself. That would've been stupid.
"Expedience is not the real reason for this renunciation," I said. "It is the worm of pride and self-proclaimed desert which the State has stolen from the bowels of its Nation, with which it tyrannizes, and which will inevitably be swallowed by the office-workers and clerks, heads of state, and other well-intentioned representatives of national sovereignty who place invisible royal crowns upon their heads, who call themselves public servants, and who dream of reaching into the State Treasury and making gold. Unless, of course, the State and all its god-forsaken machinery is destroyed and buried into ground thrice-condemned to be forever abandoned by the Nation. I curse the State! The three-teated bitch with a rat's tail that bites the Nation's hand! May she forever burn in Hell! May the Krupniks whom she dutifully serves as their familiar themselves serve as her kindling! May they rot! May they be eaten by the starving worm which the Nation, if I have anything to do with it, will regain after countless millennia of well-deserved but long-standing deprivation in the name of progress, achievement and civilization. May civilization reach a new age! May I have something to do with it!"
When the waitress brought her the drink I ordered, your mother didn't take to it. I toasted her, but she ignored me, of course. The drink was dark. She took the glass and sniffed it. She didn't like it - too bitter, she must have thought. It was a glass of Fernet Stock, an acquired taste for anyone who isn't Czech - unless you happen to be a bitters connoisseur. Your mother wasn't.
If any of this were true, it would've been tantamount to treason, which, for a Supercapitalist, was at least better than bankruptcy - but, thanks to the breakdown of interplanetary trade, thanks to the rise in fossil fuel consumption, and especially thanks to the terrorists for creating the Reserve Army's insatiable demand for oil, the Google Protocol was finally ratified by the United States. If Leonard Cohen-Krupnik had been somehow anticipating this otherwise unexpected development, it would seem as if he were some kind of retrospective gambling national hero. On the other hand, if there were anyone at all with the access to the kind of information - scientific or otherwise - that would've pointed toward the possibility - not to mention the probability - that the United States would take such a drastic, self-flagellating move, it would've been the Russians - but, if the Ukrainians were indeed Russians agents, and if the former Russian spy was in fact still working for someone other than himself, it seemed as if the Russians had been very keen on consolidating a grip on what would soon have become a totally worthless commodity - unless, of course, they were in contact with Panzer-Tank. That's how hard it was to speculate.
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.
NIKE: Are you familiar with nomenklatura? those millions upon millions of bureaucrats? whose only interest was protecting their own power and privilege? There was only one thing my father was capable of coveting: control of the Politburo; and, soon discovering that there was no way up or down (unless he stayed a coal miner like his father), he soon realized he could only shift himself left or right, and, since China was also communist, and very critical of Russia, he decided he could only go where all young men desired: west.
But once these things are grouped together, no criterion but taste is specific enough to distinguish between them; in this way, taste is subject to qualification. Do you see what I'm saying? You see, if one were judging an Olympic race, where time is measured by the millisecond, and we know that only one athlete will get the gold, one would still have to concede that each contestant is among the very best, and therefore equally capable of winning if circumstances permit. Unless of course, the race is run several times and there is always the same clear winner. But then that person belongs in a category of his own, sui generis, which, I suppose, might be construed to mean that he is the best, which also means that I am defeating my own argument.
– Title 1, Regarding Peaches and Bananas, Part 1, Section 1, Introduction, Paragraph 1, Clauses 25-29
I quipped that Nike should never be recorded, unless of course one were involved with interdisciplinary studies. "And an honors student," I laughed. "Nike is capable of extremely fascinating bits of completely random knowledge." I began describing how exasperating it was, but she interrupted, saying that Nike was exactly what she needed: so far conversations had been too small and private, and if there were anyone who could subtly bring together several different conversations into one, it was definitely Nike.
Nike was shocked. He was appalled. Police officers, despite being the worst kind of swine, should hold themselves with at least a little bit of respect, especially when they're idly standing along the Queensway of all vices. Nike was so ashamed he sat down near the bushes. Things were not going well. No one wanted to answer his questions unless he were going to negotiate business. Nike was not that foolhardy - at least, not yet: the pain was too much. But, because of it, he had to walk around like a grown man with rickets. Even the fat girls were laughing at him. Even the ugly girls, the cut girls, the destroyed and overly diseased girls were laughing at him. He was humiliated.
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.
"Has it ever occurred to you that the great river might be inside the mountain?"
"The dragon is inside the mountain," said Magog. "Unless it's the kind that swallowed you and stopped the Greek boat."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means you never once mentioned that I carved a hole in the boat and made it sink. If I hadn't paddled my way back to you on flotsam, you would have drowned."
On the surface, the river was calm. Thoughts of rapids and waterfalls injected themselves into Tae's mind. He imagined Bo drowning. He shook his head. He solemnly vowed never to return without her, no matter how far he would go. If the river drained into a massive whirlpool, he would jump into it. He would die in its murky depths looking for her body.
Tae noticed the river growing narrow. It was getting deep. If it emptied into a lake, he thought, Bo would be saved-unless there were a lake monster. Tae rubbed his eyes. It was useless to worry.
"A river runs through here," continued the woman with the strong features. "The plain is large enough for all our needs. We should immediately begin preparing rice beds and building levees-unless the three of you want to starve."
"If that be true, why are we bargaining with daggers and dead horses instead of with gold?"
"It is none of your concern."
"That is where you are mistaken. I am on a holy quest. I cannot be tainted by villainy."
"I am no villain," cried the woman, "unless it be a crime to love. Have you not dispatched your whole family to the underworld? Let me ask me: is that how all your holy quests begin?"
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.
KOKOMO: I listen to you. I know you're upset. Unless you can think clearly about what's at stake, you shouldn't commit to it.
FLETCHER: My judgment has been clouded. Your perceptiveness never ceases to amaze me. I only hope that someday soon I'll be worthy of your favor.
KOKOMO: Time can only strengthen our bond.
FLETCHER: I get impatient. I want certain things to happen now.
KOKOMO: Believe me: it's better to wait.
FLETCHER: Agreed.
– ACT I, lines 1352-1357
GREY GOOSE: I've waited long enough, woman. I deserve an answer.
MS. JACKSON: I will not answer you.
ALICE: Why not?
GREY GOOSE: She's guilty.
MS. JACKSON: I've done nothing wrong.
GREY GOOSE: Swear to it.
ALICE: There's no reason not to tell the truth.
GREY GOOSE: Unless you're a rat.
ALICE: Remember what I told you. There are three things which everybody is owed: honesty, gratitude, and remorse. As my grandmother taught me, one must say, 'Thank you,' and 'I'm sorry,' and, by gosh, one has to mean it. If you've had cause to hurt somebody, you should tell that person you're sorry and you'll try to make sure it never happens again. Unless you know it will - in which case, you recognize that something is difficult. If it's something to which your partner is contributing, you make a resolution to cooperate on that. Eventually, things work out. If you've done nothing wrong, you thank your partner for his interest, humbly deny any involvement, and proceed to send him off on his merry way. I took marriage lessons with Luke for a year. They were quite helpful.
MS. JACKSON: Thank you.
– ACT I, lines 1101-1110
LESBIAN: I can put this one back. No one can accuse me of stealing it. I just borrowed it to show that some things in life are more important than others. Whom am I kidding? I took it to get into my landlady's panties. I'm a terrible human being. There have been worse than me - like the person who stabbed that poor girl sixty-two times: the first murderer this island has had to fear in more than one hundred and fifty years. Both suspect and victim were like me: alien to this place. Why did we come? What did we hope to find? Peace? We scared her off. Happiness? Satisfaction? Understanding? Why here? Why do we trespass on other people's land? It stands in our way - but of what? There's nothing beyond what's right in front of us at any given time. There's no way of knowing that unless you trespass. All that one can hope to do is make as little damage as possible along the way. We are all criminals, whether we like it or not. Though some of us are big and some of us small, we are all cut from the same dough. That's not the easiest thing to believe when one man robs or kills another man. What was my crime? Why am I punished? Why am I the only one who's alone? Or is it just my imagination? Are there others out there who can see me? Who know me? Who can feel my pain? If there are, I salute you. I would kiss you if I could. I can't, so I just say, 'Thank you.'
– ACT II, line 583
(GREY GOOSE and KOKOMO exit in a rush. MS. JACKSON and LESBIAN enter in a rush.)
MS. JACKSON: Oh, that takes my breath away. Do you think he saw us?
LESBIAN: I don't think so.
MS. JACKSON: He could've turned. We have to watch out.
LESBIAN: Why?
MS. JACKSON: My son is an expert tracker.
LESBIAN: How is that possible? What's there to track on Norfolk?
MS. JACKSON: Nothing - unless it's human.
LESBIAN: He takes after his old man.
MS. JACKSON: Don't mention him. You'll spoil my mood.
– ACT I, lines 880-888
FLETCHER: It was tough. They didn't have many farming tools. In fact, all they had was a broken shovel. They did have some hammers and some crowbars. They used that to bore a hole through a rock. They put their gunpowder inside and blasted themselves a cistern. They were lucky that the ship's armorer was part of their crew. He could use the ship's bellows and the anvil to make new tools. Unfortunately, soon after they got there, his Tahitian consort fell from a cliff and died - apparently while she was gathering birds' eggs. It didn't take long before he was threatening to leave unless they allowed him to take one of the Tahitian men's wives. Nobody was very happy about that, but he was the blacksmith. They couldn't afford to lose him.
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
Pfizer scoffed. "Nobody from Earth gets elected anymore. Not unless you're a hybrid. We've gone from the center of the arm to a backwater. It makes me want to move to the Orion cluster."
Sara Lee's eyes widened. "Would you really risk it?"
John nodded. "Unless he got another one." Proctor was already out the door. He called the policeman up. He passed him on the stairs. When he heard the door to the hallway shut he went back up a flight. To the floor below John's apartment. He found the right door. He kicked it open. Inside stood the shadow of a bed. A desk. John went to the window. He opened the curtains. He started rummaging through the drawers. He didn't have to look for long. "Dear beloved," said a letter. It listed the names of the victims. Starting with Emily.
Two years and still counting. No word from the devil. The bitch made promises. A fat check. Enough to pay for surgery. Where is she now? Two yards under. Seventy-two inches. I did the math. The scientist in the east wing told me that much soil would weigh about a ton. That's two thousand pounds. Way more than I can lift. I'm a big girl. The bitch that took my cigarettes was a tiny little thing. Even if she did come back from hell she'd never get out from under that earth. Unless they dig a hole next to her. I wish I knew where she was buried. I could do something about it.
The following day the man came back. He asked me what I was talking to myself about and I told him I was mulling over current events. Politics in Moscow. He wanted to discuss it with me but I refused to talk to him unless he came inside. So he came inside. He said his name was Putin. Which I told him was similar to my own name Bongani. I asked him where his friend was and he told me that his friend had a lover. I told him I hoped he wouldn't say the same thing about me. We laughed over that. He left in good spirits.
Branca lives in California now with her husband. Her old torch-bearer, Fr. Rebelo, lives outside Boston. I'm not sure when they last saw each other but it couldn't have been long ago. Rebelo does weddings for the family. He just did one for Lima child number ten. I don't remember any of their names. In fact, old Sir Lima announced at that wedding that henceforth a Lima marriage would not be valid unless performed by Rebelo. That's one of those chummy deals that's kept Hong Kong in business through the ages.
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 unless 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 "unless." I hope I can get it done sometime soon. -Michal
St. Sebastian was a member of the Roman Emperor's praetorian guard who had the audacity to teach Christian values while on the job. I think active duty American military men and women who don't vote or who don't publicly express a political opinion because of the uniform are either being idiotic or are being cowed by the threat of punishment from a superior. Either way, they're eunuchs. My purpose in creating the St. Sebastian Series is to put the flesh and face of the true soldier front and center. The good soldier puts his mission ahead of himself. He often ends up dead. The true soldier knows a bad mission when he sees one and he isn't afraid to say it. Saint Sebastian was not a cow, despite what clever people would have you believe. Saint Sebastian is a patron saint for all protestors who face the arrows of the mob for speaking out.
Your support keeps the "Unless" page up and running...
If you love women and art...
Michal's importing Polish art...is he certifiable?
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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