I'm not a saviour. I'm not here to liberate women. Nor am I trying to get myself enslaved. I'm here to help women and men to liberate themselves. It's an ongoing process and it won't get done unless we start helping each other to do it. Learning how to listen is key.
By teaching myself to listen to women, I'd like to give everyone a chance to become a better listener.
I've decided to export fine art handcrafted by women in Poland to America. High quality handcrafted art produced by high quality women deserves to be shared. The more I can sell stateside to people who know the difference, the more I can buy from those whose worthy hands to continue the fight for openness and equality, a fight that I've taken to the world wide web.
Your support ensures that films for women will make a difference.
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Janina: An Oral History of the Twentieth Century in Southern Poland
Chapter 5: Death on the Steppe
Janina relates the misfortunes that befell her mother's family during and towards the end of the war as an outbreak of typhus spread across the western steppe.
Author's Note: I have been enjoined from sharing the details of my true romance adventure until such time that the other party is prepared to present her perspective on the affair arrangement...
Europe, the summer of 2011. Twelve countries. 46 days. One car. One tent. One man. One woman he's just met.
As an artist, from the beginning of my adult career, my work had been devoted to the problem of body acceptance, a goal that I would later learn was shared by a whole community of people called naturists, a humble portion of which I discovered residing in Poland, a country whose cultural conservatism does not lend itself readily to forward thinking. One of those forward-thinking Polish naturists happened to be Margo.
I was from America, land of the free...home of the brave. She carried the weight of Old Europe...domestic and religious poverties...stifled creativity. Anger. Sadness. Yearning.
Do unto others as you would have done unto you. But how to judge what we would want done to us if we've never been in somebody else's shoes? If we've never been abandoned by our mother, how do we treat somebody who has? Somebody who seems to constantly suffer the repurcussions of it? Margo and I had 46 days and 6,000 miles to try on each other's shoes. We had one car and one tent in which to hear each other's words. We learned to cooperate. We started learning how to listen.
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: Literature History
I fondly remember the Scholastic Book Club catalogs I got in elementary school when I was a kid. I was always looking forward to getting them. It was fun to read all the descriptions and figure out what types of literature interested me the most, although it was particularly upsetting if a world literature anthology I liked was too expensive to even think about buying. I had to make informed decisions. Otherwise it meant a trip to the library and the hope that somebody else wouldn't have checked out any of my books-to-read.
There was one book that was always at the library but that I never had the courage to check out. It wasn't science fiction. It was a book about sex. I was afraid to hold it. Opening it made my heart race. I was afraid to be seen standing in the aisle. I had to switch aisles. I was a long way from the children's section but this was the one place in my world where I could see what a naked girl my age looked like. In the photograph she was standing in a line of girls and women, each progressively taller, older, rounder, fuller. If I had been able to at the time, I would've given this book a nobel prize just for this photograph. I wanted to know what girls were hiding and this was the one book that had the courage to show me the truth. Just having the chance to see the truth was satisfying, not to mention the fact that I was fascinated by the changes represented in those bodies. That I had to hide myself in a corner of a public library in Lincoln, Nebraska in order to see this truth opened up many questions for me.
The last time I was in a library I saw a grown man sitting in front of a computer unashamedly clicking through pictures of large breasts in bikinis on Facebook. If this man were able to do it, I'm sure he would give Facebook a nobel prize for providing this type of literature. He and I are products of a culture that fetishizes the human body. All primitive cultures fetishize something. They give it a specific charge, either positive or negative. It's the "why" that drives a community. Cowboys drive a herd of cattle by negatively fetishizing the land on either side. Men are driven the same way. For us to build a truly free society, one marked not just by sophisticated technology but also by a sophisticated culture, we will have to destroy the fetishes that drive us.
It doesn't matter what types of literature you like. Whether you like reading science-fiction or sampling world literature of an adult nature, just keep in mind that your choice is a little nobel prize of its own. Your choice dictates what kind of writing takes place. If you want humanity to live like cattle, do nothing. If you want to be a cowboy like me, see the fetish for what it is. Destroy its power.
Pronunciation of Literature History
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the words "literature history."
Video of me pronouncing "literature history."
Definition of Literature History
I have yet to publish the definition of Literature History.
I'm sure it won't take too long.
References for literature history
I have yet to find good references for Literature History
Samples of Fiction from Michal's 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.
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 #227
expedia called. like i thought. chase comes to the office and leaves as soon as he hears im looking for him. he assumes i want to talk money.
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.
Then the conglomerates came. They brought lots of suits. They brought water and air. They brought fuel. They brought lots and lots of diamonds and robots. The robots were the best, because they didn't need anything but fuel.
Then the big one came: the one that made it all possible: the people who put the first man on Mars: the company that financed the first expedition: Yariba Corporation, based in Tokyo. They sent three vice-presidents! Then the chairman of the board! Then all Class-A stockholders got a free trip. They patted themselves on the back. The news organizations took a group photo. Then they announced their largest endeavor yet: an integrated power and irrigation system for the entire planet. It took years, but they did it. They bought materials and fuel, diamonds and robots. They made contracts. They traded companies with other Martian conglomerates, and, finally, under contract with SIS (Secure Interplanetary Shipping), by the license of the United Nations Organization, Yariba Corporation transported the first nuclear bomb to Mars.
"Yes, very much. This work is wonderful. It's the most beautiful pièce montée in the world, I think. There's nothing like it, now or in the past. It makes Carême look like custard." Your grandfather smiled.
"What?"
"Carême. Antoine Carême? The nineteenth-century chef?"
"Yes, I know that. I didn't hear you."
"Antoine Carême would marvel at this. Look at this composition. It's grandiose. Look at how this pastry dough comes around here like that. Isn't that marvelous?"
"I think the chef must feel the justice of our cause."
"Yes, well, he's Polish just like you," said your grandfather. He smiled.
I smiled back. "He makes my nation proud," I said.
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.
I'm getting ahead of myself: I was sitting there in that bathroom, letting it steam, while I sat there obsessing about a bottle of alcohol. It was so trivial. There was no real necessity of bringing a bottle - I hadn't promised anything. I should not have looked silly going there empty-handed - after all, it's Nike we're talking about. I could've left before the party and come back shortly afterwards with a bottle. Nike probably would've come with me. Or else he would've let me go; I would've insisted. He would've said it were silly to do so, but I would've looked over my shoulder and smilingly said, "It's for my own good!"
It had nothing to do with the bottle. Even as those thoughts curled within me, enveloping me, goadingly steeling me in the gathering steam, I knew the real reason for my decision: it was Macy. He would be there at Nike's house; I would have to see him, greet him after all this time, and, fearing the encounter, I knew that I would rather meet him in the context of a party - not the prepared emptiness, the disquieting silence that surrounds a house before its guests are welcomed.
Once in fact, Macy and I spent the entire day together, sightseeing for the most part. I distinctly remember our trip to the fine arts museum. I excitedly showed him Bellini's naked woman, the one holding a mirror, and explained how Bellini was ninety years old when he painted her, and how so few women were ever portrayed with such openness.
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.
"You realize she's my cousin. She doesn't put out?"
A breeze puffed the woman's veil. An under-veil of white peeked out. The crown held them in place. The creases of a carefully wrapped linen wimple budged. The woman imperceptibly cocked her head. Imperceptibly, she squinted. She started holding her arms back as if preparing to run. My eyes fell to her pleated guimpe. It hung from her shoulders broad, firm, clear-finished-a serge from the fiber of a noble sheep. The chevron weave pointed down.
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.
(FLETCHER exits.)
MS. JACKSON: Kokomo!
KOKOMO: Yes?
MS. JACKSON: Where did you put it?
KOKOMO: On the terrace, ma'am.
MS. JACKSON: Why didn't you say so?
LESBIAN: I think she means lunch.
MS. JACKSON: What?
KOKOMO: Lunch is served.
– ACT I, lines 214-221
(LUKE and ALICE exit.)
LESBIAN: Don't worry, dear. It'll turn up.
– ACT I, lines 222-222
LUKE: Hoopani Koopani.
Hoopani Koopani.
Witi tay rah!
Kissa kissa kissa ha!
Kissa kissa kissa ha!
Winna tee, winna tee.
Tee tee ta.
FLETCHER: What the devil was that?
LESBIAN: It's a haka dance developed by the Maori people of New Zealand. I didn't know Aussies could appreciate it.
LUKE: It's me old school chant - thanks to the junior rugby union.
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
I want to meet the beautiful Branca someday. In Hong Kong. On the hill. With a view of the harbor. I'm sure she's just as charming as Rebelo himself. Chinese face. Portuguese name. British accent. Living symbol of a land in flux.
A black man in Moscow is not unheard of. There used be many of us. There were four of us in my neighborhood. Obama and Barack lived together in the gray block to the north. Khalifa lived down the street from me. We didn't necessarily like each other but we were all in the same boat. We had each come from the same poor country. We each had been invited to study in Russia. Back then, almost twenty years ago, we considered ourselves lucky. We were willing to go through any hell to see it through.
On the fourth day I read aloud again from Dostoyevsky's The Idiot. I was practicing my diction. After I got tired of reading I started thinking aloud. I was discussing with myself the imagery in the story. Relating it to my own situation. After amusing myself in this way I decided I was being silly. I sat in silence again. I thought about Barack and his twitching and the general ignorance of people.
To promote democracy, the strong must empty themselves of their strength. The weak must be granted the opportunity to grow strong. We cannot force the end of patriarchy. To do so simply perpetuates feudalism under a different name.
Help maintain the "Literature History" page alive...
If you love women and art...
Michal's exporting Polish art...is he daft?
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.