It took me a long time, but I have learned to sacrifice my own interests. It wasn't easy. The key is learning how to listen. Once I could consider somebody else's needs as if they were my own, it became a lot easier to meet those needs - despite the heavy costs.
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 24: Barefoot
Janina recalls how her father was put in charge of a commission to dispose of their exiled neighbor's property and how his foresight paid off later after the war.
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...
When I arrived in Europe on the 20th of June, 2011, I had no plan and certainly no idea that by the end of the week I would be practicing photography with a woman I had never met, a naturist who had never before allowed herself to be photographed nude. It was the first of a whole series of firsts for the both of us.
Though I felt fully formed as a writer, and had been trained in visual language, it was my first time with a professional camera in my hands. I was just learning the ins and outs and had come to Europe to find as diverse a selection of subject matter as possible, preferably something that fit my aesthetic devotion to promoting body acceptance. Enter Margo.
As an American, I was full of optimism and confidence bordering on recklessness. I was ready to run the wheels off the car I had just bought and eventually I would. As a European, she was cautious and mistrustful. She needed to make sure the air conditioner worked. Which it did. If you knew how to turn the broken knob in just the right way.
As far apart culturally as we may have been, we spent 6,000 miles in one car. We spent over 40 nights in one tent. We started learning how to listen to each other. We started learning how to accept our differences and how to let them help us instead of driving us apart. Slowly but surely, we started learning how to beat the devils that abuse us.
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: Best Fiction Authors
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 Best Fiction Authors
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the words "best fiction authors."
Video of me pronouncing "best fiction authors."
Definition of Best Fiction Authors
The Best Fiction Authors are people who are promoted by large publishing interests, regardless of whether they write the best fiction whatever the hell that means.
References for best fiction authors
I have yet to find good references for Best Fiction Authors
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 #6133
i wont let a woman play me. not when people are watching. they want an iron fist. lowes learned to respect my authority. so will harley.
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.
During the time in which Baron Cohen-Krupnik might possibly have arranged his unauthorized shipment, there had been seventeen officially scheduled border crossings.
When the town authorities moved the marketplace to the other side of town, your grandfather refused to move. The old marketplace had been only a hundred meters away from Town Square; the mayor had moved it clear across town because somebody's son-in-law was planning to buy some property there and build a giant store complex. Nobody wanted to go that far and that was the point: the mayor had built the new marketplace with town money just so nobody would go there and he could call it unprofitable, which meant that he could then sell it to somebody's son-in-law, who could then build a giant store complex without having to spend all of his money on foundations or water and gas. It was intentional. Everybody knew it.
Jesus knew two things. First, at some point, what perhaps could lightly be described as 'an unauthorized shipment of arms from the Czech Republic' passed through the borders of Poland. Second, for this to have happened, someone had to be bribed. In this case, the bribery was capable of being construed as treason. The proof was etched onto steel; Jesus had it and could show it if necessary.
Going back to the Office of Space Travel Authorization in Warsaw, he said, "They can't find my birth certificate. It doesn't exist. There's no proof that I'm a Polish citizen. There's no proof that I was ever even born."
A literature book narrated by a pair of siblings on either side of the Atlantic whose profoundly weird sexual experiences pose a serious challenge to their traditional understanding of mathematicians, marriage, gay young men and God.
There was the car. The woman in front. Still walking, slowing down. See the headlights. Brilliantly, they bathed her. A beauty. Domino: witch for all we knew hiding behind a mask of gentle womanhood. Entranced. A pale face: round, clean: a sharp jaw! Beautiful, blunted chin. Mercy! Woman. What mortal creature would harm you? The moon hid. Shamed by a daughter of Eve who walks with such authority? Proud mien: terrified - at the same time, uncompromising.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 2, The Second Day, Part 1, Labor & Economic Reform, Section 22, Encountering Poverty, Paragraph 50
I began contemplating its total volume. "Where is the extra weight?" I thought. "Where is the unwelcome guest? Do I see a perfectly round blackness? absorbing all the light? Do I see it pushing away its neighbors? Yes: I see it throbbing. Little capillaries of red are throbbing throughout its body. See: you are feeding it with your own blood. Stop feeding it! Command your vessels to turn away! Rebuke them! Your own blood is conspiring against you. They are helping the cellular apostate. They are aiding its growth. And you wonder why we are all sick; we are all paralyzed with fear. We cannot speak with authority. But we must speak, brother. Speak and do not fear my ridicule - for only through ridicule may we gain authority." I was thinking this. My loins were screaming it. My organism was trying to communicate this to my ailing brother. Do you understand, sister? Do you see the difficulty of describing this?
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 5, Inflammation of the Loins, Paragraph 3, Clauses 18-33
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!"
I asked her to bring this up casually in conversation, so that I could elaborate on the compliment, ever so innocently - but she was afraid to do it, owing to her quality of English, which was still not very good; but she agreed and after a bit of rehearsal we met with Macy on the weekend. Once we were settled down at a certain restaurant, I learned that Macy was from Boston, that he was acquainted with you, having met you our freshman year, and that he was here in Austria for the summer for no other reason but that he wanted some culture - that, and the fact that his parents had met here in Vienna in nineteen seventy-two and had fallen madly in love.
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.
Much fiction surrounds the names Gog and Magog. According to my understanding, they were not giants or blood-thirsty monsters. They were not fallen angels. They were one man and one woman. They apparently loved each other, though they often quarreled. Whether or not they made up half their adventures is beside the point. They were definitely the first people to circumnavigate the world. The evidence for that, though circumstantial, is overwhelming.
Gog and Magog descended onto a great plain. They encountered a multitude of tribes. Each spoke a different tongue. "This," said Gog, "is the fruit of Nimrod, the first of the great kings. The Haoma claim he built a mighty tower to replace the Holy Bhag. Woe to he who attempts to pierce the firmament. What say you, Mithra?"
"Let us subjugate these people," she said. "One of them may know something of High Harrah. It will be easier to gain their secrets from a position of authority."
"It is a gift," they said. "We ask only that your consort be granted authority over the meat." Gog agreed. He had the carcass placed in a tent. Magog retired with her handmaidens to perform the rite.
The car was back; the woman, in front, turning, slowing, seeing the headlights beginning to bathe her brilliantly-an attractive girl-a witch for all we knew hiding behind a mask of maidenhood-stood entranced, a pale face with a round shape-a clean, sharp jaw-a beautiful, blunted chin. What being could possibly harm her? The moon hid, shamed to see a mortal daughter of Eve walk with such authority. It was a proud mien on a worried-at the same time, not unprepared woman-an uncompromising beauty-who betrayed little fear upon her unwelted brow.
The workmen grabbed a hold of the suspect. Patsy fell against the scaffolding. He handcuffed himself to the suspect. The window washers strained to hold on. Patsy lost his grip. He fell. Hanging over the edge, he thought to himself, "Not this again."
The Chinese authorities were not pleased. As soon as they had brought everybody back to the ground, they told Patsy he had to release the suspect. Patsy relented.
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: Are you sure you want to do that?
FLETCHER: I'm sure.
KOKOMO: As a Catholic, I'm glad.
FLETCHER: As a woman, whose heart beats too fast, are you glad?
KOKOMO: I'm glad.
FLETCHER: I will do my best to make you happy - even if I have to grow yams on Western Samoa.
KOKOMO: Oh, Fletch: I am happy.
FLETCHER: We should go - before my mother makes you wipe up your tears from the floor.
KOKOMO: I love you.
FLETCHER: I love you, too.
– ACT II, lines 537-546
FLETCHER: I didn't really care for him.
GREY GOOSE: Tom the anesthesiologist?
KOKOMO: He was funny.
GREY GOOSE: Douglas the airline pilot?
FLETCHER: At least he wasn't a doctor.
GREY GOOSE: Joe the Gynecologist?
KOKOMO: He made me smile.
GREY GOOSE: What about the oral and maxillofacial surgeon? The computer information systems manager? You were nothing before me. I made you.
FLETCHER: Kokomo will have to wear a burqa for the rest of her life around here. This was a Sunday operation before he came and screwed it all up. Do you know why you kept getting looks in town? It wasn't what he did; it was what he said. He had everybody on Norfolk thinking you had hired the best piece of faffy this side of Hawai'i. Some of them thought that you were in on it - that you were behind it all.
GREY GOOSE: This is some kind of gratitude.
– ACT II, lines 451-460
GREY GOOSE: That's not what I want to hear.
KOKOMO: I'll do my best.
GREY GOOSE: You're a fine girl, Kokomo. Nobody can know about this: not Fletch, not the guests, and certainly not my wife.
KOKOMO: I get it.
GREY GOOSE: Go to my farmhouse. Wait for me there. I'll follow.
– ACT I, lines 246-250
(LESBIAN climbs into bed, disappearing underneath the down comforter. GREY GOOSE enters unseen dressed in pajamas and carrying champagne.)
GREY GOOSE: My wife left, with my son right behind her: both heading towards two figures in the dark: one Alice; the other no doubt my wife's new best friend: for why else would Fletcher dog her? leaving me with - eureka - my Polynesian beauty: I recognize the shirt. This is your chance, old man. Make it good.
– ACT II, line 308
MS. JACKSON: I will go insane if I don't find out.
GREY GOOSE: It's all very simple. These two have been running a racket: a confidence game. Kokomo plays the prostitute, whose story is so ridiculous it must be true. Finding out for oneself is the challenge. If she's the best lay in the South Pacific, one should know the difference.
FLETCHER: Satisfaction guaranteed.
GREY GOOSE: Cash comes rolling in.
MS. JACKSON: I don't understand. What happens when-
FLETCHER: By the time they get to bed, they think she's a charity case.
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 suffer. It takes a lot of effort to stand in front of that toilet. Or worse. Sitting on it. With balls dangling precariously above a pile of this months shit. I don't want to say it but it scares the crap out of me.
Mary babbled late into the night. She was like a broken robot. The rest of us were falling asleep staring at the fire. Steve decided to invite her inside the tent. I made sure I wasn't the one sleeping next to her. Peter did the same. It didn't guarantee we would survive the night but we both felt it increased our chances.
My mother lived in London for less than a year. Her husband dumped her for some cheap hussy from the East End. My mother didn't know anybody in London so she ended up emigrating to the United States. She had some sort of distant cousins in New York who didn't give a rat's ass about her once she got here. She married my father about three weeks after she met him. I think I was already about three weeks old.
I was taken to a football game. Not at a stadium. More like a field with a stand. My uncle called it "The Moldavian Wembley." This is where my stomach caught up with me. At some point during the first half I rushed out to find a toilet. The only permament structure I found had a long line sticking out of it. The portable toilets were crowded. I decided to find something further afield. At the very least a bush.
The Amazon was called. He decided Orbitz's exchange with the shopkeeper was a kind of code. He ordered that they both be watched. It wasn't hard to do. Orbitz didn't move from his hotel room. The shopkeeper stayed in his shop. Customers came hawking antique ray guns. There were bidets customized for extinct species. A collection of hand-painted mechanical snakes was ruefully turned down. After a few days the members of the surveillance team noticed something strange. The shopkeeper never bargained. If he made an offer to buy something it was invariably albeit grudgingly accepted. The rest of the junk he dismissed even if he liked it. "What a shame," he would say. "I wish I could afford it." In the same hour he would sell something for ten times its cost. He was making piles of money.
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 help keeps the "Best Fiction Authors" page...
If you love women and art...
Michal's exporting art from Poland...is he cuckoo?
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.
Michal Recommends:
