Help End Psychological Manipulation 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...

By the end of my first week in Europe in 2011, I had bought a car and out of the blue had met the woman who would join me on a 6,000 mile trek across the European continent, sharing the beat-up car that I had bought and the one small tent from Walmart that I had brought along with me on my flight.

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.

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.

I've never gone hungry without deserving it. I've never been systemically beaten by a parent. I've never been fondled by a priest. That doesn't mean I can't listen to somebody who has had to experience such abuse and it doesn't mean I can't try to understand. Margo and I traveled 6,000 miles together. We slept in the same tent. We had to listen to each other. A person shouldn't need 6,000 miles to do it. We should be able to listen to each other just because we want to. We should've been taught to do it. If we haven't been taught, we should be learning how to do it and learning fast.

One of Margo's pictures from our trip across Europe. — 6,000 miles across Europe with a complete stranger
**Day 12**
7/31/2011
⚔ 11༛♊²⁵/₂₄♀
Camping Trenta
Trenta, Slovenia
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 12**
7/31/2011
⚔ 11༛♊²⁵/₂₄♀
Camping Trenta
Trenta, Slovenia
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 "fiction" 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 Fiction: 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.”

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Samples of Fiction 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 #1863

mexicos right. wars the only thing thats gonna stop this mania. well never share. if you want something nowadays you take it by force.

Chase Credit

16 August, 9:28 AM

Frame #3269

ike scoffed at the whole cuddling bit. she says chase's too much of an egomaniac to pay for sex but hell sleep with any slut who lets him.

Twitter Hashtag

3 September, 6:11 PM

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Samples of Fiction 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.

None of this would have mattered, of course, if safety guidelines had been appropriate: there was no need for bottled air on Earth: all you needed was a face mask with a filter! But people were just stupid! They needed to wear fancy bottles like the rich people on Mars. They had to be just like the Martians! They convinced themselves it was necessary! The bottled air industry helped, of course, but people did it to themselves! They were maniacs! It was, by far, the worst case of collective craziness in history: far worse than Tulip Mania, which only lasted a generation! This mania kept going: passing from father to son, mother-in-law to daughter-in-law: each one equally convinced that air bottles were absolutely indispensable. Finally, someone had to make it law: somebody somewhere in some treaty made it international law: every mask had to be attached (on purchase) to a bottle by a licensed mask and bottle distributor - just like on Mars, where it actually mattered: where your life depended on it. What crazy person made that happen? What greed was behind it? Nobody knew, and few people cared. The only real solution to this problem was cleaner air.

– Verse 79 from the chapter called Childhood

Jesus never fully believed that Zoe's father was the great tyrant that her testimony often implied. Sure, he was capable of ordering a man to his death, but, then again, he was a father, and, like all fathers, he no doubt often confused his own interest for his child's. Jesus suspected that Zoe's portrait of her father was, no doubt, not only one-sided but colored with the crayons that had most survived the years - that is to say, the least favorite. No doubt, Zoe loved her father, and, no doubt, Zoe loved Jesus. Yet, there was doubt. There was an incredible amount of it that couldn't be silenced. Like rats, it gnawed; it swam through Jesus's bowels and burrowed into his stomach. It climbed his spine, jumped into his heart and head and bred: seven litters a year - each containing six to twenty-two young - once every three months. There were rats everywhere, and Jesus was literally helpless. Did she love him or not? he asked himself. Did she want to love him? Was she trying? Was this the best she could possibly do? Was she lying? What was the lie? That her father was a maniac? Or was she the crazy one? Was she lying to fool him? or to fool herself? What the hell was going on?

– Verse 98 from the chapter called Vows

Jesus was being kept in jail on the orders of the magistrate. He must have thought that Jesus was capable of destroying pertinent evidence of his crimes or else committing some more. Two random dead bodies turned up at the cemetery and, as it turned out, both of them were related to him. My sister went missing for months. Jesus's father had disappeared. I didn't say a single goddamn word. Jesus could've been a crazy maniac for all the magistrate knew. The magistrate knew nothing - that was his major problem. There was no evidence that Jesus had done anything wrong. There were no witnesses. Stalin was silent.

"Tell me what happened," said the procurator.

– Verses 161-162 from the chapter called Security

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Samples of Fiction 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.

If he were to catch so much as a look between the two of you, do you have any idea what his reaction would be? You cannot underestimate the importance of a look. It was a look that you shared with Indiana all those years ago that has now refined everything I once knew. Looks are very potent creatures. They will define a course of action, they will spur it, and, at any moment, if their master so desire, a terrible look will cause a once determined person to abandon any hope of success. Do not forget what a stern face can do. If you must, remind yourself in the mirror, and keep this knowledge handy; there is more power in the face than in either hand, more truth in the eye than in any utterance known to man. That is the last word of advice I will allow myself; I seem to have grown so much older since I first began writing this letter.

– Title 2, Regarding the Romaniac, Part 1, Section 6, Judging Looks, Paragraph 2

While I was recollecting myself, my eyes happened upon the beggar and the crowd of students gathered around him. I watched as one of those Oxford-wearing snakes began prodding that poor despicable man; I believe he even whispered something to him - he must have: next thing I know that dirty man was raising his arm and bidding two hundred dollars. "They're financing him!" I said to myself, and turning to Luke, I looked imploringly in his eyes. He was shaking his head: "I don't have that much money," he said. It was time to take matters into my own hands.

– Title 2, Regarding the Romaniac, Part 1, Section 7, Dating a Woman with Dogs, Paragraph 9

Do you dream of the womb? of the fluid mysteries that enveloped our membering bodies? Were we embracing in the darkness? Was I able to sense our complementary difference? Did it surprise me? Did it make me call out your name? Did you try to peek through your precious lids? when the light made its first penetration, did we enjoy it? Could you distinguish my form? Was there a shadow on your eyes? or was there no room for shadow? Did I have to apologize for crowding you? Were we both getting just a little bit too impatient? Were you in a hurry? Did you kindly offer me the door and wait for me? Or did I insist? Did I put my hands on my waist, cock my head and really insist with clenching gums? Did you have to smile graciously? Did you regret the icy oxygen? Or did you cry for me? Did I want to stay? Did I want the warmness to myself? or did I miss you? across that terrible threshold; did I cry for you as I am crying now across the ocean? Do you know how terribly I miss you? Do you share that feeling in all its dreadfully frustrating lack of intensity? It is like the small and steady gnawing of hunger, which makes the organ eat away at its own tissue, only periodically rumbling in anger as it turns on itself, and turns and turns, incapable of resolving itself like a mouth that turns to eat its other side.

– Title 2, Regarding the Romaniac, Part 1, Section 8, Loneliness, Paragraph 3, Clauses 3-4

And Nike had to leave us early - what a tease! I'm sure you've spoken with him since that day - it was a while ago - and he's probably told you all about his company and moving to France, etc. It's a wonderful idea, but, unfortunately, so far it's only cost me: if Nike hadn't left me that night (to make some stupid arrangements for his departure), I would never have gotten into that bloody mess of an auction. Nike would've paid any price, because he is a gentleman - and Luke is only a hairy wart, besides being a cheapskate. Do you know what he did? Let me tell you.

– Title 2, Regarding the Romaniac, Part 1, Section 7, Dating a Woman with Dogs, Paragraph 2, Clauses 8-12

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Samples of Fiction 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.

Junior shouldn't have been surprised. Middle-aged matrons masquerading as sex maniacs do not marry men who have not yet come into their inheritance. Everybody knows that. Seeking refuge among women he would never want to marry, Junior's career took a significant slide.

– from “A Horse Named Clutch Bag,” an inspiring story featuring true love

"We're heading up the road in a humvee. This guy drives like a maniac. If we pass your team while they're on the back of a tanker, we're done." Clark was right. He added, "You have to do something."

"Hold on."

"Forget about wiping."

– from “Two Dudes and a Chinese Desert,” a friendship story about a crazy Navy man

The passenger turned. I recognized him. It was my friend, Nike. He stared at me with wide eyes. It was a challenge. I sank into my seat. The eyes stayed fixed above, as if I had only been blocking their view. The driver turned. It was the man Nike introduced to me as Luka, the Romanian who married his cousin. They stared for a moment. Together, they faced forward.

"Last time I was here," said Nike, "the road was empty. The Reine was on her last legs."

– from “Paris Is For Rapists, Too,” a ghost story featuring a drug-dealer

The woman swallowed. "How do you do?"

"My name is Luka. I'm from Romania." The woman pulled her cloak tightly across her body. Luka glanced at Nike. He looked back at the woman. He said, "I will be your driver."

The woman nodded. "Thank you."

– from “Paris Is For Rapists, Too,” a ghost story featuring a desperate man

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Samples of Fiction 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.

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

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Samples of Fiction 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.

Adam was the Patroclus to Steve O's Achilles. In more ways than Steve O realized. A fellow classmate and womanizer had asked Steve O to his face one day, "You know that guy's gay, right?" Steve O had been incredulous. With the image of Adam and the redhead scarred into his mind, he adamantly defended his friend's womanizing skills. "You have no idea what you're talking about," Steve O had said, viscerally upset.

– from “A Finger Up The Bum,” a gay fiction story that nobody should think twice about, but what you make of it is up to you

The wedding went forward. Steve O gave no objections. He drank at the reception. He danced. He saluted the happy couple. He boarded the plane for New York a changed man. He had learned a lesson. He had edified himself. He had strengthened his character. He was happy. Confident. Full of new-found respect and ready once again to womanize.

– from “A Finger Up The Bum,” a gay fiction story that nobody should think twice about, but what you make of it is up to you

I met family. I was introduced to a long lost uncle. Some cousins. Things were going great. Until I realized none of these people spoke Ukrainian. They spoke Moldovan. They assured me it was basically Romanian. It didn't help. All the books I had bought were for Ukrainian. All the time I wasted preparing for the trip was spent learning Ukrainian phrases. I was reduced to a repeating series of infantile gestures and nods of my head. I felt supremely embarrassed until the alcohol finally kicked in.

– from “The Most Idiotic Actress,” a fictional story based on somebody's real life as related to the author

"We are all jealous of you," she said. For whom did she speak? "There is a new order in the world. You have power and opportunity. Our destinies were decided by systems, technology, social movements. They manipulated us. You've been living with them from the very first day. You have more of a chance to decide what to accept and what to reject. We never had that luxury."

– from “St. Andrew's Eve,” a story of love that may calm one's nerves depending on your outlook

The most idiotic actress in the history of cinema has got to be my mother. She was born to a family of Ukrainian farmers living in Romania. Or so I thought. It turned out it was the other country. The one whose name is always different. Moldavia. Moldova. Bessarabia. It doesn't matter. She married some kind of commie who ended up defecting to London. This was not my father.

– from “The Most Idiotic Actress,” a fictional story based on true events as related to the author