Michal makes films to help women... Does he think they need him?
Posted:
I want to convince everybody that learning how to listen is worth the effort. Society is not a zero-sum game. If a man takes the time to consider another person's interests as if they were his own, he will be better for it. He will feel better. He will be a stronger and more steady individual and all people will benefit.
Having gotten myself to start listening to women, and having gained immense benefit from it, I want to give others a chance to benefit the same way.
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 36: "Write Letter!"
Janina relates how the Austrians kept up their contact with her husband and the kindness they showed during the economic deprivations experienced by the country while under the threat of martial law and their cooperation in qualifying him for a pension from their respective governments which he would receive until his passing at the turn of the century.
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...
On Monday, I arrived in Europe. By Wednesday I had bought a car. By Friday I had met the woman who a few months later would end up having travelling 6,000 miles across Europe with me.
I had come to Europe to document people practicing naturism. Preliminary arrangements had been made to meet with an Egyptian nudist visiting the Continent and there was some kind of Pan-European gathering scheduled to take place in Croatia. I had arranged for an assistant to come along with me to help with anything I needed, but when her passport was stolen the night before we were supposed to leave, my plans went awry. I decided on something less ambitious. I would visit a naturist sauna in the city of Bielsko-Biala, Poland which I had just found on the internet. When I got there, I met Margo.
From America I brought with me the American can-do spirit. She saw the car that I had bought, the terrible camp stove I had borrowed, and my sundry canned goods and challenged me to make-do. In my optimism I assured her that if we lacked for anything I would make up the difference. She assured me that if she lacked for anything she would find her way to the nearest airport and fly home. Luckily that never happened.
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.
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: Fiction Film
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 Fiction Film
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the words "fiction film."
Video of me pronouncing "fiction film."
Definition of Fiction Film
A Fiction Film is a non-factual or semi-factual narrative arranged as a series of two-dimensional drawings presented one after the other at a high rate and usually accompanied by sound.
References for fiction film
I have yet to find good references for Fiction Film
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 #997
the file looks legit. larry target. drug dealer. 80 cleve. somethings wrong. i must be dreaming. since when do i work big cases solo.
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.
Those days are over. What man keeps his own cow nowadays? Who's going to milk her? Sell her to the dairy farm; let the machines do it. Who's going to sell their own milk and cheese and butter? So many health regulations apply, only the biggest farmer can do it. The Sanitation Department would crush you. That's what they're there for: to protect the public health: to put small farming out of business. Sell your farms! Move to the city! Sleep with rats in your bed instead of your barn. "Don't you realize?" they say. "You can't live off your own land if you're not an agribusinessman! You need to go and be a clerk! File papers! Deal with people! Serve! Don't grow! (Please: we'll give you money not to grow.) Go to the city! Get a job! Manage a firm! Sell cars, rocks - I don't know. We need more cosmetics! More clothes! My shirt is dirty - make me a new one: something flashy, something new. Don't you understand? We don't have enough knick-knacks: go and make some. See if you can sell them! Good luck! We'll see you at the opera! What? You can't make it? What a shame! It's the best! It's culture! That's what we're here for: to make things and watch opera."
The Reserve Army division (whose general staff headquarters had been placed in Treblinka) was supposed to be preventing terrorists from joining up with their brethren in Poznan (to the north) or else from filtering through the southwestern Polish countryside towards the nearest spaceport around, located a few miles south of Warsaw. The Reserve Army, in the few weeks since Wroclaw had fallen under terrorist siege, had made several very important and surprising accomplishments: it had finally stopped favoring Germany and German interests; it had finally looked past the so-called 'Looney Triangle' of Hamburg, Bremen, and Berlin; it had finally considered the possibility that terrorists were being manipulated (or else directly controlled) by an agent or agents whose agendas had very little in common with terrorists' traditional goals of killing Americans and their allies - after all, what the hell were they doing on planet Earth? They had plenty of soft targets in outer space and especially in Earth's orbit - they were consciously neglecting them. That made no sense whatsoever. The Reserve Army finally deployed two divisions east. As an afterthought, one was sent down to Silesia, while the main contingent made a beeline to the capital. Thanks to them, Jesus found his way out.
"Well, not really misplaced," said Stalin. "They were exactly where they were supposed to be, but somebody forgot to fill out the appropriate form saying that they had been moved."
Blaming America was difficult. For the simple-minded, it was easy, but most people were conflicted. America was a beautiful country; it had suffered much, but who hadn't? Besides, Americans were in space, in stations orbiting around the Earth; America was on the moon, racing China for the best pieces of real estate. Even though half their country was gone, they were still on top! They were in orbit around the Earth! American soil filled the stratosphere, casting its shadow across the globe: and they were above it! They couldn't care less. To them, the damage was done. Yellowstone exploded - thank you very much, now go and help yourself.
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 kept standing by the doorway, watching a slew of passengers file aboard the train. They took all the standing room and there was no place left to go; the last people to climb aboard - three hooligan types - had no choice but to stand next to me. I shrank against the wall. They were big and offensive to the eyes, but they were calm and relatively quiet, smelling less of booze and more like odor.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 11, The Underground, Paragraph 3
My eyes - I had no eyes - my vision grew accustomed to the dark. I could see the shadows of trees. They were immense. They floated. They rustled. They terrified. The terror took shape. It stretched like a tube of darkness. It headed past the other side of the car. It was the other side. It was emptiness. I floated towards it. I filled it. I was balancing out the space. It was pulling me like dark matter. My hand clung to the door. I tried to hold on. I couldn't.
Now that story is good enough to share under any circumstances, but looking back with hindsight, I realize how eerily prescient it was that night, when that which was wrought by simple physical fatigue was that night accomplished by a dramatically complex physical apprehension: not only was part of my body literally apprehended, but this action filled me with such anxiety for the rest of that night, that I was fully prevented from either enjoying myself or the performance, which, according to the standards of the Royal Opera, was a more than adequate treatment of Massenet's work.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 12, Opera, Paragraph 1, Clause 1
Soon the dogs were far from us, and the woman was beyond hearing. We talked about her for a while; we contemplated her strange words. She was a crying woman among dogs - but was she a lonely woman? a sick woman? a grieving woman? We may never know; but we did cross each other momentarily, and perhaps there was a purpose behind those crossing trails: for I have come to suspect her of something. I think she returned to me last night. I believe that she (in disguise, but still, a strange, walking woman among dogs) has infiltrated my dreams.
There was paper trash everywhere: trash on the floor, on the desk, papers collecting in piles on boxes, open boxes full of old and unfamiliar clothing - there was even a large duffel bag, with more clothes filling out its form and spilling out of its open side.
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.
A man came down the ramp. He looked up. "My God," he cried. "It's beautiful." Tae nodded. A luminous nebula stretched above them. It filled more than half the sky. "I thought I was warm from the de-freezing process," said the man. "I doubt it ever gets completely dark around here."
"There are four stars," said Tae. "I checked the computer."
"I have video of a man being killed in Pf Chang. A dirty Manga shows up on the camera. It might be the same one." Neal scoffed. "I'll show you." Tatum played the file. Neal shook his head.
The handmaidens filed out of the tent in silence. Fear was written on their faces. The guards asked the last one about Magog. She said the queen consort wanted time alone with the goddess. She was not to be disturbed. Nobody saw the heifer escaping through the back. In the darkness, it was hard to see. Its hide had been scorched black.
In the morning, Gog realized his consort was gone. He rushed to the shore. He arrived in time to see the Greek ship leaving. He cursed it. He saw the Greeks on the deck. They taunted him. They shouted, "Athena has taken your queen. She is a prize worthy of the gods." The wind filled their sail. Gog dove into the water. The Greeks saw him swimming. They laughed.
The woman in the waiting room sat watching the secretary put files away. She couldn't help it. For an office worker on the moon, the secretary was extravagantly dressed. Sheer black stockings hugged her legs. A short, tan skirt stretched from one cheek to the other. Thin, white crape billowed over her shoulders like tissue paper.
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: Not to mention this island's penchant for making the most grotesque of assumptions - never mind that. I did a terrible thing in burning down that house: I know it. I've been paying for it ever since. I'm finally sorry for doing it. I don't think I could've said that this morning. Something's changed. I don't want to be like that anymore. I don't want to do those things. I think the Australians should mind their own business; that's neither here nor there. If you didn't squeal my name to the police, somebody else did. I'm going to find that person - not to burn down his house - to talk to him calmly and rationally: to put these absurd suspicions to rest. Everybody deserves to hear the truth, especially the people you love. I was kicked out not because of my reputation or the looks you were getting in town. It wasn't because you thought I killed that girl. It was because I hurt you. I hurt you a long time ago and I've always been too selfish to realize it. I expected you to understand - even though I never properly explained myself. It had nothing to do with you. You were perfect. I loved you. I was afraid of being a father. You know my childhood - or perceived lack thereof. I was insecure. I was scared to death. I panicked. I didn't talk to anybody about it because I was ashamed. I thought that, if you knew, you would despise me for it. You were always so strong and fearless. I envied you. When your family came and asked me what was going on, I lied. I acted as if I didn't care about you anymore: as if I had lost interest. Nothing could've been further from the truth. I was an idiot. I was such an idiot. I'm sorry for that. I'm so sorry for everything. I won't trouble you anymore. Even if you and your friend want to move in together, I won't trouble you. File divorce papers in the morning. You can keep the house - and the sofa bed - and the mattress - and the comforter - and the dishwasher. You can even keep the cook - and the boy.
– ACT II, line 356
FLETCHER: Kokomo is a confirmed Catholic. She was filled with the strength of the Holy Ghost.
ALICE: I didn't know axe-wielding was one of His gifts.
FLETCHER: I'll have to ask my catechist the next time we meet.
ALICE: Are you a catechumen?
FLETCHER: I'm an inquirer. Kokomo is my ever patient sponsor.
ALICE: Was that before she caught you?
FLETCHER: I suppose I wanted her to find it. She has a point, as far as art is concerned. Whatever one thinks of its medicinal uses, it can't cure a lack of imagination.
ALICE: The sensory awareness it provides or the perception of time one experiences under its influence can benefit pursuits like contemplation or flower arrangement.
FLETCHER: What's made you such a passionate partisan? Have you partaken of the peace pipe?
ALICE: Occasionally. It's been more often than that. I used to work for a florist. There was never any reason not to smoke. To be completely honest, I accidentally brought some with me.
– ACT II, lines 121-130
(FLETCHER and MS. JACKSON exit.)
LESBIAN: Now my passions are roused! In this room lies my chance to consummate my love for her. How wonderful a thing is a parlor! Only a lecher seeks his victims in their own beds. Normal folk must wait for respectable opportunities to have their lusts filled. My landlady knows as well as I that, once the rest of the house has gone to sleep, having respected my privacy, I shall have reason to wake her - or she me - whichever the case may be, depending on who can resist temptation longer. With looks such as hers, I doubt I can.
– ACT II, lines 307-307
(KOKOMO exits. GREY GOOSE enters.)
GREY GOOSE: My darling Polynesian beauty, Fletcher must be right. It's pointless for me to put the moves on you - especially since it's obvious you're in love with him. My chances of success were always slim. I never lost faith in a woman's whim. I was certain, if I tried hard enough, you would let me taste-test your sweeter stuff. Each one of my advances you rebuffed. You're too good. My situation has changed now that my dear wife and I are estranged. Perhaps some trickery can be arranged. If I were to slip softly into your bed, not smelling like chattel, but like that perfume you gave my son - that little brat - who cares more about annoying my wife than pursuing the love of his own life, even though I'm the one she causes strife - perchance I might convince you with a kiss - before you discover my artifice - that I am the best way to earthly bliss. It would give me joy. My desire to light this house on fire would be assuaged. Despite what I have said, I will never ignite another house again. I am reborn. Ever since your mistress unleashed her scorn, making me sit in filth, lost and forlorn, in my old cowshed, I have taken stock. I'll no longer blindly follow the flock. I cannot yet say the same for my cock. If my wife's got a lover, I'll be damned if I don't. I'm not going to be crammed away. I'll come back with my monogrammed pajamas. I'll drink champagne and cut loose like there's no tomorrow. I'll introduce Kokomo to my little one-eyed goose and she'll say I'm her daddy. My excitement notwithstanding, I must not invite suspicion. I'll save my strength for tonight!
– ACT II, line 30
(MS. JACKSON exits.)
KOKOMO: Oh, bittersweet news! That I might have my mistress's blessing to wed her son - her firstborn and only son: her pride and joy - and make a Catholic out of a Christian, when she knows her line - her ancient English stock - would rest entirely in my womb, fills me with great joy; but since that stock, if Madam's fears be true, is filled with an urge to plant one's seed in every jar and hole - to roam rakishly over the countryside regardless of warmth at home - I must gird myself to the possibility that my loins will not be enough: that fear of the yoke will upset my plan to reveal with success this very night my feelings to my beloved Fletcher!
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 straightened out the dress. I felt filthy. I kicked my sweater onto the love seat.
"Would you like me to help you?" asked my earnest guest. My crumpled panties were at his feet.
Meanwhile at the bottom of the hill the professor was waving his arms in frustration. Mark turned into Profile Road and asked, "What's going on?" The professor was embarrassed. He didn't want to explain what he was doing. He said he had been trying to photograph some wildlife until the truck scared it off. Mark apologized.
Dust penetrated every orifice on my head. My lips were blanketed. My ears filled. The corners of my eyes were invaded. I was about to sneeze again. I held my breath. I hoped the second one would ooze out. No luck. The spasm was violent. I jerked my head forward. I almost hit myself.
Problems arose when a new development was begun at the western end of Profile at Login Road. That particular section of Login had fallen under the purview of City Rural Route 15 as the result of a union grievance involving guaranteed work-hours. Never mind that the rest of City Rural Route 15 was ten miles away.
Due to a law passed by the town government the development was never completed. Of the houses that were built all were on Login Road and passed to City Rural Route 15 with the exception of one house which was on Login Road but faced Profile. Its address was Profile at the end of a vast stretch of undeveloped land with no mailboxes. Logically it would have made sense for the city carrier to service that mailbox. Fortunately logic had nothing to do with the process. Profile was rural territory. Any box on Profile belonged to the rural craft. The only question was whether it would be Rural Route 4, Rural Route 2, or Rural Route 6 which gained the prize.
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.
Help me keep the "Fiction Film" page alive...
If you love women and art...
Michal's exporting Polish art...is he daffy?
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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