Help Prevent Stalking With Art

Strength and dignity are her clothing...

Proverbs 31:25

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.

I knew naturism was popular in many parts of Europe and as an artist who had worked on body acceptance for his entire career I was keen on documenting some small part of it. Lo and behold, I found a very important part of it hiding in Poland. Her name was 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.

Despite the cops in Vienna. Despite the rain in Veržej. Despite getting lost in Italy. Despite parting at Soest. Despite that night in Amsterdam. Despite our fight in Lisieux. Despite the storm in the Bois de la Roche. Despite that terrible morning outside Collonges. Despite the long road to Pielenhofen, we came back safe and sound and most importantly we were happy. We had started to learn how to listen. We had left the devils of the road behind and the devils ahead seemed just a little bit smaller. We had started to open up.

One of Margo's pictures from our trip across Europe. — 6,000 miles across Europe with a complete stranger
**Day 16**
8/4/2011
⚖ 15༛♊²⁵/₂₄♀
Camping Club Léman
Préverenges, Switzerland
THE DISAPPEARING WOMAN, THE DISAPPEARING MAN...
a collection of modern art prints and posters
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.

Previous Image — 6,000 miles across Europe with a complete stranger
**Day 16**
8/4/2011
⚖ 15༛♊²⁵/₂₄♀
Camping Club Léman
Préverenges, Switzerland
THE DISAPPEARING WOMAN, THE DISAPPEARING MAN...
a collection of modern art prints and posters
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.

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.

If you're wondering...

How do I use this?

Just click on a title to see examples of "writing" from a particular work. You'll stay on the same spot on the page, only the Table of Contents will disappear. To get back to the Table of Contents just click next to the image of the Bare Bottom imprint where it says "Back to Samples of Writing: Table of Contents."“And...?”

In the case of common words, a Table of Frequency and a Table of Collocation provide numerical information about how many times a word appears in its original or modified form and with which words. It can help to give you an idea of how common words are used and in what contexts. Find them in the "Common Words of English" part of the Education section.“Ok.”

Why a Fiction Corpus?

The popular understanding of the word "fiction" and its complement "non-fiction" is a reflection of the cultural influence of a classification system. The Dewey Decimal System is responsible for separating "fiction" from all other work and categorizing it by author's name. This has influenced the popular idea of fiction as a narrative that tends to be "untrue" and the product of an individual's fantasy, a bias compounded by modern art's century-long obsession with abstraction, surrealism and self-expression.“So...?”

My idea of fiction rests on the idea that art doesn't have to be factual to be a true reflection of our existence. Adam and Eve didn't have to exist as two individuals 700 generations ago for them to be true portraits of two human beings trying to work together.“And...?”

The Bible is a Fiction Corpus. It is a body of writing that isn't overly concerned with facts and yet its words carry weight. It was written by many different authors living in different places with different audiences in mind, yet everyone gleans something from it.“Right...”

In preparing my fiction corpus, I have striven to see the world through the eyes of others. Through the eyes of my Adams and Eves I hope that you too will glean some truth about our existence. At the very least you will learn some more about how one man can use the English language.“Ok.”

Who are you, Michal?

I'm just a guy who makes art. And if you're interested in making a solid investment in an aesthetic that supports our present and future welfare, then I will help you look for something that you can buy.“How...?”

Everybody makes. Everybody sells. Some people know how to protect their interests. Some better than others. Few people know how to listen. Listening to somebody means considering their interests as if they were your own. Going out and doing something to satisfy another person's interest is how we build a strong economy. Without a strong economy, democracy collapses.“And...?”

Buying 4Occupy is buying for democracy. Don't give your money to somebody who's ruining it. There's no such thing as cheap democracy, quick democracy, or easy democracy. There's good, solid, complete democracy and the tyranny of feudalism. Let's not mix the two. Let's not buy everything on the cheap. Let's not create another tyrant and enslave ourselves because it was easier not to think about what we were doing. Let's protect our interests. Let's listen.“Ok.”

Who's really behind this site?

Have you ever been to one of those post-it-yourself retail websites where there's a really attractive top-seller ready to give you tips on how you can be a top-seller too?“Uh...”

Have you ever been to a "job" interview where you sit in a line, walk through one door, get hired as a contractor and walk out another door, so that the other applicants don't realize that everyone's getting "hired" to work in the same market?“Maybe...”

The internet is full of people who are ready to exploit your ignorance. They are people who want to make money at the expense of our economy. They are cheats.“And...?”

I, Michal, am behind this site. Not some fat plutocrat exploiting my image. I like to do things the right way. I like to work with people who take the time to do things right.“Why...?”

I used to work for a company that didn't do things the right way. My labor was exploited because of mismanagement. That company was the United States Postal Service, an independent agency of the United States Government that is ultimately controlled by Congress. I'm mad because if the Federal Government can exploit labor, who is going to stop every other cheat from doing it?“Labor Unions...?”

Don't say labor unions. I went to my labor union and they did nothing. They ignored me because labor unions aren't democracies. Holding a free and fair election for a "representative" once in a blue moon does not equal people ruling. Democracy means open government. It means we the public need to accept the hard work. It's the only way to secure liberty and equality.“Ok.”

What's the difference between use and usage?

Definition-wise, not much. But the -age suffix is ultimately French in origin and with most things French, at least in American eyes, the immediate thought is that of something precious and arcane whose value should be judged very carefully. This is in contrast to the word France, which is associated with a beautiful place. Thus people in France or from France are beautiful, warm, kind people. Generous even. Unlike French people who suck. Unless you're frenching, in which case you're only sometimes sucking.“And...?”

Along those lines, usage means you're in bed. Use means you're just heavy petting. Also notice that common people, like common words, get used...whereas "proper" things make "appearances." Whether or not you are being exploited is a different story. Exploitation is what happens when somebody uses you or your property without listening to you. Listening is what happens when you consider another person's needs as if they were your own. You don't have to satisfy those needs. All you need to do is consider them. So many of us can't even do that.“So...?”

Help stop exploitation. Buy 4occupy. Buy a better world. Whether or not you feel you can afford to buy art, consider joining my protest. I want to guarantee every working man and every working mother on this planet a 15-day universal holiday. But I can't. Only we can do that. We have to work together. We have to accept the idea that everyone deserves time for himself and we need to build that time into a new kind of calendar. We have to give peace it's own day. We have to make love something you can't avoid. We have to make even the most miserly cold-hearted capitalist among us say that he cashed his check on Love Your Neighbor Day. There won't be any other way to say it once the Acceptance Calendar is widely adopted.“Ok.”

Back to Samples of Story Writing: Table of Contents

Samples of Story Writing from Death to McDonalds

An aerial view of Dodger Stadium in the foreground, with an imaginary partially submerged Los Angeles behind — 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 #218

if i can bag goldman sachs without chase ill have the higher ground. that means bragging rights and a bigger cut. definitely worth the trouble.

Sprint "Iphone" Case

28 July, 9:25 AM

Frame #609

expedia called. curtis polk has something. hes all the way in riverside. ive never been there. its always been chase's territory. until now.

Sprint "Iphone" Case

2 August, 10:10 AM

Frame #602

chase's at the office. i see him through the window. he looks bored. he probably wants to be on a case. if he comes to the diner im screwed.

Sprint "Iphone" Case

2 August, 8:50 AM

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Samples of Story Writing from The Gospel of Jesus H.

A picture of the planet Mars — 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.

Bottled air was in great demand. Your grandfather's ancestors were in the business of bottling air. "Panzer-Tank Air" it was called. People said it was very good air, or at least, air in very good bottles.

– Verse 3 from the chapter called Childhood

"You like grande cuisine," I said.

"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.

– Verses 49-57 from the chapter called Childhood

"Oh, quite right. Quite right. Do you interest yourself in gastronomy?"

I smiled. "I like to eat."

"Yes, quite right. Then you must try these," he said, pointing.

"Sweetbreads: yes, I'm familiar."

"Yes. How about these?"

"Those are macaroons."

"And these?"

"I'm Polish, not stupid." Your grandfather laughed. "Yes, that was a joke: thank you."

"Hitler Panzer-Tank the Third," he said, offering me his hand. I shook it.

"Nice to meet you," I said - and smiled, not introducing myself. It was awkward.

"Yes, well, the feeling's mutual."

– Verses 38-48 from the chapter called Childhood

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Samples of Story Writing from Sex for Children

A drawing of a man between a woman's legs in front of another man in a hospital bed — 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 thought about the impending party. Naturally, I wondered why I hadn't just gone straight to Nike's house, which, of course, would've been the natural maneuver.

– Title 1, Regarding Peaches and Bananas, Part 2, Section 2, Letting It Steam, Paragraph 2, Clauses 4-6

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.

– Title 1, Regarding Peaches and Bananas, Part 2, Section 4, Meeting a Man in Austria, Paragraph 7, Clauses 1-3

Much to my pacification, Macy thanked me and assured me that he was in fact in the theatre - at least involved with it on campus, which delighted me, since I had a friend who did likewise, and I promptly enquired if he knew Nike, which he did, much to my great satisfaction, for Nike had always been a great gentleman, besides being the ingeniously dramatic person he is. And so it was that Nike became a fabulous topic for us. As we explored the absurdity of his tendencies, it stood us in good stead especially when my cousin was unable to join us, she herself being a great amusement.

– Title 1, Regarding Peaches and Bananas, Part 2, Section 4, Meeting a Man in Austria, Paragraph 6

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Samples of Story Writing from Tsiga Tsiga Tsiga

Bullets whizzing by a statue of Nikola Tesla — 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.

"Nice butt. What the hell does she want? Don't bend over! Crap. Let's go. Don't honk: I don't want to see that shit next to the window. Drive!"

"That was close."

"Unbelievable. Look at these babes. Is that a man?"

"I'm going to say, yes."

"What about the other one?

"The one flashing us? The one in white?"

"Look at those titties."

"You think she's a man?"

– from “Paris Is For Rapists, Too,” a ghost story featuring sex work

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.

– from “Paris Is For Rapists, Too,” a ghost story featuring a frank discussion of half-naked nuns

The headlights dimmed. Were they paying her homage? Were they apologizing for blinding her? The engine stalled. The car came to a creaking halt. Nike whispered to himself, "Now, now, Luka. Let's not be so obvious."

– from “Paris Is For Rapists, Too,” a ghost story featuring a frank discussion of the beautiful people of France

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Samples of Story Writing from Sorry Ms. Jackson

Chiseled letters from an ancient stone tablet hanging on a wall — 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: That's a good story.

MS. JACKSON: From what could be gathered.

LESBIAN: I was taken advantage of once. I was at the Kammermusiksaal one day - actually, it was the night: the evening. It was fall: late fall: October. I had just attended a concert - a very good one - chamber music: it's my favorite. Anyway, this was Berlin and everything is very neat there - at least in that part of the city: the cultural part with the museums and everything. I didn't think it dangerous just to cross the street: Tiergartenstraße - to take a stroll in the park - Tiergartenpark. It's not like it was that late or anything. It was October. Naturally, the days were short.

FLETCHER: And the nights were very long-winded.

MS. JACKSON: Fletcher!

LESBIAN: I'm sorry. I don't think it's going to be very good.

MS. JACKSON: Please continue, Homo.

LESBIAN: This man came up to me in an overcoat and exposed himself. Can you believe that?

FLETCHER: Nice.

ALICE: How big was it?

– ACT I, lines 180-189

LUKE: Hoopani Koopani.

Hoopani Koopani.

Witi tay rah!

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.

– ACT I, lines 369-378

LUKE: Foka fiti tay rah!

Hoopani Koopani.

Witi tay rah!

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.

– ACT I, lines 368-377

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Samples of Story Writing from Miscellaneous Dingbats

The title of the book at the end of a string of miscellaneous dingbats — A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.

The bank on the corner of Lima and Rebelo streets was a big bank. It had a glass tower reaching up into the heavens like every other building in the area. It was an old bank. Its first two floors were refreshingly free of the massive luxury watch billboards and perfume ads that littered the eye in every direction. The walls were made of stone. Walking further I realized it was just a facade. But the wall that ran perpendicular to Lima and Rebelo streets had a gallery on the second floor. It was the one old thing of substance I could see. The one part of the old building you could actually stand on. For a second I imagined myself in 19th century China as if I were a young Rebelo in love with a young Lima whose father owned the bank and whom I was dangerously wooing from the street with a bouquet of flowers. The world was beautiful and full of hope. Until the garbage truck honked for me to get out of the way.

– from “Beautiful Branca,” a true story that includes fiction as far as I can tell

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.

– from “A Black Man in Moscow,” an inspirational story that describes the mess we're in as people, though hopefully you're one of those helping to clean it up

The third day at the school I heard somebody approaching the door. I expected a student or somebody but nobody went inside. There was only the sound of gently crushing grass. I thought it might be a cat. When I looked outside I saw it was an old man. He was walking along the side of the schoolhouse. He ignored my greeting and avoided my eyes. I went back inside. I heard the old man circling around. I decided to start reading aloud from Tolstoi. The man shuffled off.

– from “A Black Man in Moscow,” an inspirational story that describes reality as we have inherited it no matter who you are