Michal makes movies to promote female empowerment... Does he think women are weak?
Posted:
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.
I'm learning how to listen to women - even when they say things that don't make sense. I want to give everyone a chance to do the same - and to benefit from it.
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.
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.
As an artist, from the beginning of my adult career, my work had been devoted to the problem of body acceptance, a goal that I would later learn was shared by a whole community of people called naturists, a humble portion of which I discovered residing in Poland, a country whose cultural conservatism does not lend itself readily to forward thinking. One of those forward-thinking Polish naturists happened to be 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.
Each man grows up with his own kind of poverty. Even if he's got a warm house and plenty of food and a soft bed and plenty of entertainment, there's always something that a man needs. Sometimes he just needs to be listened to, if only by the birds and the trees, but preferably by another man, even if he's an artist from America who isn't very good at listening. By learning how to listen, we learn how to cooperate. By cooperating, we build a better world. In a better world, there are no devils to abuse us. A better world doesn't lend itself to abuse because a better world is populated by people who have learned how to listen.
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 Story
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 Story
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the words "fiction story."
Video of me pronouncing "fiction story."
Definition of Fiction Story
A Fiction Story is a narrative in which the identity, circumstances, and reported activities of the characters are not entirely based on observation of the visible universe.
References for fiction story
I have yet to find good references for Fiction Story
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 #6440
if the buses cross the bridge. its a different story. avenue 37 is the only road leading out. its a chokepoint. at least for vehicles.
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.
Was he really going to do it? he thought to himself. Was he really going to rob a Krupnik? Jesus was out of breath - he was really out of breath: his lungs hurt. What about his future brother-in-law? Jesus thought. Was he really going to attack two people at once with his bare hands? Impossible: Jesus shook his head. There was no way he was going to do it. He was going to watch them walk by with impunity and let them go home to their many-storied mansions, their glass palaces, their filtered paradises - he was a miserable human being! He was weak and defenseless! He was a bad person! Jesus sank to his haunches and rubbed his face. Mother was dead! A little girl was buried! Her neck was broken! A beautiful face bloodied! She fell from a third-story window onto concrete! Jesus rubbed his face and got up. He turned around. He rubbed his face against red brick. He beat his head. He beat the brick wall with his hands. Then he rubbed his face again: in the red brick: he tried to smush his face into the wall. It helped. Jesus was quiet. He wondered where they were. What was taking so long? Maybe they had left. Maybe they were gone. Maybe Jesus had missed them. O God! he prayed. Make it so I've missed them! Make it so I don't have to choose. Then he heard them. There were footsteps. He turned around. He put his back against the wall again. He sidestepped his way into a more complete darkness. There they were! crossing the street! This was it. Jesus didn't move. He thought about it: for a split-second, he almost moved a leg - but no: there was nothing. He was going to let them walk by with impunity. Go ahead, he said to himself. Go back to your filtered paradises - leave me the fuck alone.
That night, the children told scary stories to each other. At first, we sat around a fire outside, but it soon got cold. We went to your father's room, which shared a narrow closet with the room next to it. Inside that closet, we told more scary stories in the dark. I told the story of the Lonely Planet.
In the latest, it read, in a series of ethical dilemmas, Georgetown University has lost yet another controversial professor to the world of big business - this time to Yariba, the corporation responsible for the Olympus Mons Regeneration Center, the chief gear in a massive integrated power and irrigation system that forms the lifeblood of the planet Mars. Yariba Corporation, an energy and transportation conglomerate based in Japan, but with branch offices throughout the red planet, has become interested in Prof. Mae Mac's research in tissue-integrated robotics in conjunction with its so-called Jupiter Project, Yariba's expansion into information systems which hopes to place the management and operation of the Olympus Mons Regeneration Center into the hands of a so-called supercomputer. Prof. Mae Mac, who plans to relocate to Mars, has just returned from a six-month sabbatical in Poland. Back in her plush, three-story home in Alexandria, Virginia, which she shares with longtime companion...
"'She's a domestic,' I said. He laughed his head off. 'That's right, boy: they cook and clean and take out your garbage and you'll find out the rest when you're older.' He started walking away laughing. 'Wait!' I yelled. 'What about the story?'
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.
ANDY: That's right: and they're Polish, not Iraqis: so I'm studying my Polish history and customs and whatnot.
CHR: There's a Polack in my cast.
ANDY: Oh, yeah?
CHR: It's funny: he always says to me: "Chreestee: eet eez an aberration: thees capeetaleesm - eet eez eencredeeble."
INDIE: Oh, is that right? Well, I'm not surprised you men are falling for it. I prefer to concentrate on the story.
ANDY: You know, the music's not bad.
INDIE: Oh, I know: but the music is there to illustrate the story, and it just so happens I know the story very well.
ANDY: Oh, have you read the novel?
INDIE: Novel? You mean it's from a book?
ANDY: Yes: it's a book by Anatole France.
INDIE: Oh, is it also called -
ANDY: Yes, it's also called Thaïs.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 12, Opera, Paragraphs 7-14
ANDY: It's not really science fiction. It's not about technology - well, no, that's not right: it is about technology per se: I mean, that's one of the many themes, but the book doesn't really feature any fancy technology - well, damn it: yes, it does. I guess: it just has to take place in the future because the conditions for the story don't exist in the present age, you know? But even though it takes place in the future, the story concerns the present. It's kind of allegorical that way.
Of course, my family disapproved of everything, even though my cousin succeeded so fabulously in making a fool of himself. He was too desperate for something beautiful, which she was, indeed; but our Stefan was not the first to notice, and he didn't know that she already had two children. It's an old story, Macy, but, unfortunately, the romantic versions are dead; they are buried in mounds of literature. Damsels are still in distress, but they are more often subject to their own greed than to the greed of their fathers. True love has lost its footing; it no longer waits by the windowsill: the tower has fallen down."
I amused my company with a story about how I first came to London, and how I took the Underground to Leicester Square, and then proceeded to walk toward Shakespeare's Globe for a performance. "According to the Underground map," I said, "it was only a hop, skip, and a jump across the footbridge. But, after crossing the River, there were absolutely no signs for the Globe. And, with half an hour to go, the South Bank kept stretching in front of me, until finally I had to run for it. That was the first and last time I used a Tube map to navigate. It took an Olympian effort to make that show, especially since I didn't even have tickets. Luckily, they were able to squeeze in another groundling; but after hauling myself across that bank, no matter how good they were I could hardly stand the performance."
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 11, The Underground, Paragraph 7
A collection of stories featuring a sexy Parisian ghost, a spooky Moon base full of vagina-faced aliens, a policeman with an Irish name, a truck full of watermelons, a flautist, and a man who has to see another man about a diseased horse.
A headrest blocked my view. I turned towards the window. It was dark outside. I realized I didn't have a head. There was nothing in the glass-not even the faintest reflection. I moved my hand towards my eyes. I couldn't see it. I tried to feel my heart. My hand sank into my chest. I had no chest. I panicked. I clutched the seat. I felt the leather on either side. Slowly, I brought my hands together. My buttocks were gone. What the hell was I sitting on?
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: Open your eyes. Do you know what I was trying to do here? Look at this place. It's a god-damn mess.
FLETCHER: You were only trying to help.
GREY GOOSE: I wasn't. I was trying to please Kokomo. That dishwasher wasn't a gift for your mother. It was a gift for her.
FLETCHER: Don't expect me to believe Mother's story that all this time you've been chasing after the cook.
GREY GOOSE: Things changed the moment your mother convinced herself that she's falling in love with that Kiwi.
FLETCHER: Lesbian is not going to stay here. I doubt Mother would just pack up and leave. All we have to do is be patient. We have to ride this thing out without losing our heads and without letting anybody catch the two of them going at it - whatever the hell it is they do together, which can't be much. They probably just kiss and talk about running off to get married in Spain. Regardless, we can't afford to take any chances - not with our reputation as low as it is.
GREY GOOSE: I argued with her today - not because it was necessary - because I desired it. I shouted what I should never murmur without her permission.
FLETCHER: What are you talking about?
GREY GOOSE: I called her a whore - not because I was roping Luke -because she turned me on. It made me angry to feel so helpless. I argued with Kokomo so that I could be close to her: so that I could breathe in her scent. That's all this stupid dishwasher business was about. Did I say it was a gift? It wasn't a gift. It was a ploy.
FLETCHER: Stay away from her.
– ACT I, lines 1237-1246
FLETCHER: That's a good story.
MS. JACKSON: From what could be gathered.
LESBIAN: I was taken advantage of once. I was at the Kammermusiksaal one day - actually, it was the night: the evening. It was fall: late fall: October. I had just attended a concert - a very good one - chamber music: it's my favorite. Anyway, this was Berlin and everything is very neat there - at least in that part of the city: the cultural part with the museums and everything. I didn't think it dangerous just to cross the street: Tiergartenstraße - to take a stroll in the park - Tiergartenpark. It's not like it was that late or anything. It was October. Naturally, the days were short.
FLETCHER: And the nights were very long-winded.
MS. JACKSON: Fletcher!
LESBIAN: I'm sorry. I don't think it's going to be very good.
MS. JACKSON: Please continue, Homo.
LESBIAN: This man came up to me in an overcoat and exposed himself. Can you believe that?
FLETCHER: Nice.
ALICE: How big was it?
– ACT I, lines 180-189
FLETCHER: 'You don't float around staring off into space? You don't flinch when I reach out my hand? You are a fish. You're a catfish. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to tease you. I'm serious. I want to know what's wrong. Are you sick?'
ALICE: 'No.'
FLETCHER: 'You certainly don't seem healthy. I'm going to Father. Maybe he knows what's wrong with you.'
ALICE: 'Fait, Toc. I fay tay you.'
FLETCHER: Toc is my name, by the way; they're my initials. Father is John Jackson, the last of the mutineers - not our real father. 'Alright: speak.'
ALICE: 'Many year aro when you were ritter, te women try to escape in a poat fur of hor. Te men say tat tey fix it, put tey not fix it. Tey laugh when I catch te crap ant ah te women fa in te vater.'
FLETCHER: 'I know this story. Susannah, you're no stranger to water. Don't tell me you're afraid that I would put holes in my canoe and make you fall in.'
ALICE: 'After tis, ah te women talk apout is kirrin' te men. Ant two of tem try.'
FLETCHER: 'You're not saying that you might actually kill me if I humiliated you?'
ALICE: 'I tey you, Toc. You ask me; I tey you.'
– ACT II, lines 81-90
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.
GREY GOOSE: She vomits on them and that's it.
MS. JACKSON: Vomits?
FLETCHER: It turns me off.
MS. JACKSON: How?
– ACT II, lines 431-440
FLETCHER: Good. My mother's been trying to stop her. I don't blame her for that. I feel sorry for the poor girl. Her story is a sad one. Kokomo's grandmother was raped by the Japanese while they were occupying the island of Upolu in Western Samoa. That's where Kokomo was born. Her mother was the product of that horrendous crime. Though they were the victims, both mother and child were ostracized by their tribe. Even after her mother had grown up, only the Catholic priest would take pity on them. Kokomo was the product of that pity. Eventually, she went to American Samoa to work as a prostitute for the tuna canners. One day, she came home with fifty thousand dollars and a baby. It turned out her pimp had threatened to kill her if she didn't have an abortion. Unfortunately, Kokomo made the ill-advised decision, once the baby came, to run away with the pimp's money. He ended up tracking her down. When he showed up at the mother's hut, Kokomo, in a state of pure shock, burned the money. The guy flipped out, killed her mother, slit the baby's throat, burned down the hut and forced her onto his boat. On their way to Pago Pago, they were hijacked by a bunch of pirates from Fiji. They killed the pimp and then realized he didn't have anything worthwhile except for the girl. While they stood around, trying to decide what to do, Kokomo offered them the greatest sex they would ever have in their entire lives: on the condition that they release her. They figured: why not? They could do whatever they wanted with her no matter what happened. Kokomo blew their minds. They were so satisfied, they stuck to the deal. They let her go in Fiji, where they begged her to stay and work as a prostitute. Kokomo agreed to do it, but only until she made up the fifty thousand dollars that she burned: the money that killed her mother and her newborn baby.
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
What's going on in China is nothing new. The world has always been a machine. A giant pendulum clock. Time ticks. Fortunes rise on one side. Fall on the other. People at the bottom get crushed. China's just bigger. More obvious.
My father never lied to my mother about going up to see his old girlfriend. He lied to me. So I wouldn't say anything. So my mother could find out about it later. From the receipts. It was part of the grand scheme. To bring things to a head. To back up the toilet of their lives. To bring up the festering crap they had tucked away in their basement all these years. Like the accusation that my father had raped my mother. On some night twelve years ago. When she had said no. And he had done it anyway. I wanted to laugh but my wife was there. Her father raped her mother. Allegedly. My wife is convinced its true. Despite only having heard one side of it. If it were as bad as it sounds I doubt her parents would still be together. But they are. Like my parents. They've reconciled. For all intents and purposes they're a happily married couple. They hold hands in the street. While my wife wont sleep with me. Because on some rainy afternoon two years ago I told her I wanted to rape her.
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.
If a 45-year-old businesswoman and hard working mother of three kids is going to pose nude for a calendar, it's gonna have to be a good one. Margo didn't start a coffee shop called the Vagina Cafe to win her favors from the establishment. Even as she dishes out prizes to the 20 women who placed last in the twentienth anniversary run of her town's biggest road race, her business, unlike everyone else, doesn't get mentioned. She was an official sponsor for Christ's sake! But the announcer just couldn't swallow his patriarchy and get the words "Vagina Cafe" out of his mouth. That's not something a proper gentleman would say in front of a crowd of humble God-fearing "ladies" who cherish their modesty! And a Body Acceptance Calendar is certainly not what a humble God-fearing book-seller like a Barnes and Noble would put on their shelves! So how do I expect to sell this in the mainstream? Maybe if you download the free versions a thousand billion times it might help. Start downloading.
Help support the "Fiction Story" page alive...
If you love women and art...
Michal is exporting Polish art...is he meshuggah?
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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