Michal wants to name his film production company after a feminist cafe... What is he thinking?
Posted:
I don't speak for women. I don't speak for men. I make movies to encourage people to listen not just to loud groups but to quiet individuals and to judge them as if they were judging themselves. I don't need anyone's permission for that. All I need is to know how to listen. It's something I've been working on for a long time.
I'm learning how to listen to women - even if sometimes they say terrible things. I'd like to give everyone a chance to do the same.
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 continue the fight for openness and equality, a fight that I'm taking 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 29: Tekla's Bequest
Janina talks about the inheritance her family received from her father's late half-sister who had been living abroad in Canada and the difficulties they faced in claiming it due to the communist government's need for foreign currency.
Some people need a reason to be looking at a bare bottom. They might be trying to arouse themselves sexually or they might be preparing to administer corporal punishment.
As a nudist, I prefer being naked over being clothed as a general rule. That means I don't need a reason to be naked. I need a reason to be clothed.
As a naturist, I don't need a reason to be looking at a bare bottom. I'm comfortable being surrounded by bare bottoms as a general rule.
I don't fetishize bare bottoms. I think they're useful artifacts. Without bottoms our legs wouldn't work. They attach our legs to the rest of our body and covering them up with fabric doesn't improve that function.
Pronunciation of Spanked Bottom
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the words "spanked bottom."
Video of me pronouncing "spanked bottom."
Definition of Spanked Bottom
A spanked bottom is something kids hate and adults enjoy.
References for spanked bottom
I have yet to find good references for Spanked Bottom
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 #3811
i gave the beacon a ping. it works. and it looks like its not at the bottom of the sea. the glue must be holding.
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.
That day, my mother was angry: she spanked me and told me to behave. I told her that they were teaching us fake words. She asked me how I knew that. I told her an older boy had told me. She said not to believe what older boys tell me.
At the time of her sudden death, Jesus's father was engaged in some very serious litigation - had been for quite some time. As long as Jesus could remember, his father had been poring over books: law books, books on health, books covering conflicts of law, international arbitration, personal injury cases, adjective law - the list was endless; the books were heavy and full of small print: Jesus didn't care much for them, but he knew, from an early age, that somehow they were intimately tied to his father's income, his mother's illness and his own persistent loneliness, for it seemed like those books, while keeping his father occupied for lengthy periods of time, would also send him far away, to places that Jesus would never have known existed if not for geography. Jesus blamed those books, even though they kept his father close to him, for keeping his father preoccupied. They angered him - they angered his father if they proved unhelpful or troublesome - but Jesus's anger was stronger: he hated the books for taking away his father's attention (once, his father had mercilessly spanked him for ripping out a few pages, which the young Jesus had done out of frustration for being neglected) but ultimately (notwithstanding the great pain of that episode) Jesus blamed the books for something far, far worse: a much meaner and grosser negligence. He blamed them for letting his mother die.
A literature book narrated by a pair of siblings on either side of the Atlantic whose profoundly weird sexual experiences pose a serious challenge to their traditional understanding of mathematicians, marriage, gay young men and God.
One of its branches joined the main river above Whitehall, and a lower branch below the Houses of Parliament, thus creating the island of Westminster. Now back in the day, the Tyburn supplied London with drinking water, which was transported to the city by means of a most romantically natural system: a series of conduits made of elm trees. Now apparently, the English elm, if not as stately as our native American, is at least as durable under water - however, I did notice a very small but definite split in the bottom of our sculling boat; you shall have to investigate upon your return. But while you are in London, consider the fate of the Tyburn: it has disappeared; but: it still exists.
Her left hand, the one that held Albert, the one that she had placed on top of her right, she now had on her thigh, almost next to mine, but farther down. She had lifted her bottom hand, letting her top hand slide down. Its thumb was now across my fingers. And she was now able to lift her other hand, the right one; pressing the fingers of that hand onto her left, she was able to lift the palm resting on my hand, letting it rub - just a little bit. And when her right palm was finished, her thumb, on her left hand: it was rubbing - just a little bit, imperceptibly - but for me: certainly, softly, surely. I let her keep rubbing for a long time. Then, I realized: I had to answer. So, when she lifted her palm, I lifted mine; we began rubbing simultaneously: she my hand, my hand her thigh. Then, people were applauding.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 13, Apprehension, Paragraph 6
I looked back at Barbara just in time to see her fallen face. Somebody yelled out sixty and somehow she was able to squeeze out a painful smile across her lovely visage. But her muscles were not able to hold it long: the beggar offered an astounding eighty dollars, and she, dropping the corners of her wretched smile, had to fix the most pathetic face I have ever seen: like a mask of death sprinkled with glitter, painted with bright and happy colors that, aesthetically speaking, did not reconcile her now pale skin, or the uneven lines of her twisted lip, or relieve the tension of her naked brow in that beautiful but wretched face of slowly sinking features, relaxing themselves as if they knew the touch of death, and welcomed fate, even though the mouth was still fixed in horror, quietly extending the poetic moment with its cautious gaping, barely unfurling its bottom lip, as if still unsure of its fate in that final moment: a quiet appeal for justice that did not fall on blinded eyes, even though mine were temporarily imprisoned by her beauty in that smoky dungeon.
Apart from our peevish little cousin, there was no hint of frustration on that particular summer day. My curiosity was soon overwhelmed by the sight of Indiana, who alone emerged from around the house. From the bottom of that small hill, and perhaps owing to our age, she seemed, and continues to seem in my memory, as being very tall - so tall, in fact, that in my image of our first introduction, I see myself looking up to her face, trying to see her eyes from under her dark glasses while she conversed with our mother and our aunt. I was standing in a hole, perhaps.
And I have come here not only to beg for your forgiveness, but to ask you, from the very bottom of my heart, to shine upon me just a fraction of your devotion, which you so willingly bestow upon Him, a man I have never known, and of whom I am sincerely and most deeply envious.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 6, The Sixth Day, Part 1, Children & Education Reform, Section 7, Becoming Obedient, Paragraph 8, Clauses 6-7
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.
Her face was older, thought Ferrari. She had gained weight. Her breasts were bottoming out with age. A small scar graced her upper lip. If anything, she was even more beautiful than he remembered. Her nipples were thick like short cinnamon sticks. There was no doubt they would taste just as sweet.
Bei held Jing's hand as she slid her into the water. They splashed and giggled. At one point, Bei gripped her lover's bottom. Jing stood on her tip-toes. She rested her arms on those experienced shoulders. She gazed into those wrinkly eyes. Tae clutched his head. He thought, "How did this happen?"
Tae stopped. He went to the river's edge. He gazed into the water. It was as clear as day. He could see the bottom. "This water would reach my chest," he thought. "Surely Bo is safe." He kept running. The bank got low and sandy.
Tatum whispered, "Alright." She leaned down. Gracefully, she unbuckled her knee breeches from the bottom up. She undid the last clasp. The fabric dropped. Shaq smiled. With one quick motion, Tatum removed her halter top. She pulled her panties down, wiggling out of them until they dropped. Naked but for her shoes, she beckoned Shaq forward.
Junior was transfixed. As long as the women kept blathering, every inch of Nyota's body could be inspected, at least the part above the table. If the other half were anything like the top, there would be no problem. Meanwhile, at the bottom of his mind, Junior noticed she was a sensible woman. He liked that, too.
Ann agreed. "You can't put your make-up in it, your pocketbook and your cell phone and not expect to get tired. It's a regular everyday satchel masquerading as a clutch bag."
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.
GREY GOOSE: Are you saying you didn't squeal to the Aussies?
MS. JACKSON: I'm saying I didn't have to.
GREY GOOSE: Swear to me that you said nothing.
MS. JACKSON: I won't.
GREY GOOSE: Swear to it.
MS. JACKSON: No.
GREY GOOSE: Swear on the Holy Book.
MS. JACKSON: There will be no such swearing in my house.
GREY GOOSE: My house, woman! My house!
MS. JACKSON: Not anymore, you mangy, little womanizing can't-keep-his-hands-off-my-cook's-bottom descendent of a drunken, wife-beating man-whore!
– ACT I, lines 271-280
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?
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
"How are you going to enjoy the rest of the evening? It's not even midnight."
"I'll manage." I brushed the bottom of her eye with the back of my finger. She caressed my jaw. I told her I would drive her home. She argued. I shook my head. I told her I would have to insist.
The house nearest the bottom of the hill lay between Update and Download streets. It had its official front door on Update Street. The entrance to its driveway was on Download Street. The address said 1 Update Street and was assigned to Rural Route 6 but the man who lived there decided one day that he would prefer to pick up his mail from his car as he got home from work. This was more convenient for him. He put his box for 1 Update Street next to the box for 1 Download Hill. The postman on Rural Route 6 was now expected to end his trip down the hill at the same spot where the postman for Rural Route 2 ended his trip. To make matters better, the man on 1 Update Street had planted a hedgerow on the southern edge of his property twenty years earlier. This was done obviously with the intention of pissing off the mailmen.
A retired mathematician lived on Profile directly across from the hill. He specialized in probability theory. One day while sipping a cup of tea in his kitchen he realized that two mail trucks coming down the hill on two separate roads that met at the bottom and had to stop to service boxes at the exact same spot could potentially be rolling down the hill at the same time and if one carrier wasn't careful enough could be observed engaging in a significant but nevertheless comical collision. The professor happened to be, as Mark knew from his mail, an amateur photographer. He set about recording the times at which he observed the carriers proceeding up the hill and the times at which he observed them coming down. He noticed that if both regular carriers were on duty a collision would never occur. Both of them were too slow. But if one particularly fast substitute carrier, namely Mark, was coupled with the other regular carrier, namely Bill, he could calculate the probability of a collision based on the times at which he saw them climbing up the hill. This excited the professor immensely.
Indiana lay her head on the crook of my neck. I slid my fingers beneath her underwear. I lifted her onto my hands. I held her by the skin of her bottom. I rocked her. I kept pace with her lilting chest. Our shoulders rose and fell. We were like a mother and child.
She told me Albert was sick. He was going to die. I cooed. I kissed her on the cheek. I told her I would put her to bed.
Proctor was halfway through his part of the list when the call came through. It was a third victim. Reclining on a park bench. One arm behind the head. The other placed along the leg. Deposited in broad daylight. No witnesses. A jogger called it in. Thought it was a nudist playing a prank. When Proctor arrived on the scene he noticed how livid the body was near the bottom. The job had been rushed. There was no artistry to it. Ligature marks were clearly visible around the neck.
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.
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If you love women and art...
Michal is exporting Polish art...is he meshuga?
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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