Michal wants to name his film production company after a feminist cafe... What is he thinking?
Posted:
Oppression isn't something you can eradicate without learning how to listen. I don't just mean hearing words being spoken. To me, to listen to somebody is to consider their needs as if they were your own. That is a thankless task.
Having learned to consider a woman's needs as if they were my own - no matter how ridiculous - I've given myself a chance to grow. I want to give that chance to others.
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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Panthers Attack Bielsko by Night
Bielsko Biała Club #4: Opium
Her pride of cats having somewhat disbanded in the night's chaos, the Queen of Panthers gathers what's left of her brood and leads them to the night's final destination, a club at the city square called Opium.
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...
Europe, the summer of 2011. Twelve countries. 46 days. One car. One tent. One man. One woman he's just met.
I had come to Europe to experience European naturism, a movement whose philosophy matched my aesthetic of body acceptance and whose organizational structure and leadership I had thought almost exclusively restricted to the western half of the continent. I was shocked to learn that naturism had an official home in Poland, a country not especially known for its liberal culture. I was less shocked to discover that the home was owned by a Dutchman, but even more shocked to learn that it had been largely built by Margo.
I was from America, land of the free...home of the brave. She carried the weight of Old Europe...domestic and religious poverties...stifled creativity. Anger. Sadness. Yearning.
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: Nobel Literature Winners
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 Nobel Literature Winners
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the words "nobel literature winners."
Video of me pronouncing "nobel literature winners."
Definition of Nobel Literature Winners
Nobel Literature Winners are a set of writers who have received gifts for writing useful things.
References for nobel literature winners
I have yet to find good references for Nobel Literature Winners
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 #1253
goldman sachs fell for it. literally. chase tripped him at the back door.
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.
"Once, we were at a funeral in Japan; she collapsed over the corpse. She was so drunk - at a funeral! She threw herself over the coffin - she literally just threw herself. People were like, 'Zoe, is your mother sick?' Yes: she is sick in the head. She is a sick woman. I think she's schizophrenic. She gets panic attacks - like I do, but they're much more violent. She'll tear apart the whole house. It's terrifying.
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?
"You know," said Jesus, "this reminds me of the good, old days: when there was so much dust in the air, it literally found its way into every tiny, little crevasse on your body: underneath your fingernails, in the corners of your eye, and, most surprisingly of all, in between your buttcheeks." Jesus grabbed at his pants and grimaced. Your mother laughed.
"His son, Andrew, showed me how much food those dogs get: a liter of soaked potatoes for three days. That's not even a meal. What poverty! What dirt and rotting smell! He wanted to give me some 'fresh milk.' I said, 'Andrew, alright, but' - I didn't finish. I just took the milk, mixed it with potatoes, and threw it to the dogs. Are you kidding me? They milk their cow with the same bucket they use for liquid manure. Natural farmers!
Jesus's worst episode was his last: after that, he would never drink with his uncle again. They were at some relative's house in Treblinka. After finishing half a liter of vodka, Jesus said, "Stop: that's enough. I'm going home."
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.
But once these things are grouped together, no criterion but taste is specific enough to distinguish between them; in this way, taste is subject to qualification. Do you see what I'm saying? You see, if one were judging an Olympic race, where time is measured by the millisecond, and we know that only one athlete will get the gold, one would still have to concede that each contestant is among the very best, and therefore equally capable of winning if circumstances permit. Unless of course, the race is run several times and there is always the same clear winner. But then that person belongs in a category of his own, sui generis, which, I suppose, might be construed to mean that he is the best, which also means that I am defeating my own argument.
– Title 1, Regarding Peaches and Bananas, Part 1, Section 1, Introduction, Paragraph 1, Clauses 25-29
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.
"No," cried Harry Connick. "You're not pulling anybody out of this race. If the horse falls, we'll fall together. I don't care if you have to peel me off the track. I've been spineless my entire life. I'm not backing down now. Don't you understand? I've been afraid of everything-even my beloved wife. That's why I'm here. God knows every time she sat next to me, I cringed. I squeezed my legs so tight, I cracked my own nuts. Not anymore. I'm not going to let them keep dividing us between black and white, the thin and the morbidly obese, the rich and the middle-class. It's over. I've seen the promised land. It's a horseshoe-shaped circle paved with bricks. There's a sign hangin' above it. The sign says, 'Winner.' Now I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm walking into that circle if I have to crawl over a dead horse and die. Who's with me?" Everybody cheered.
The fabric, thought Tae, was framing the cleavage in the shape of a teardrop, literally, as if the seam had split-or, had been torn apart-from the pants of a young, supple woman bending down to pick up, let it be, a child.
"The beds are going to take at least a month," said Kung. "Why can't we explore?"
"We who have displeased the Bhag with our complacence will fight each other to the death. Our champion will carry our swords to the holy Harrah Berezati [i.e., literally, the high watchtower, mountain abode of the gods]. He will offer them in sacrifice. This is the will of Gog."
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: Speak up.
MS. JACKSON: There is no lighter sound than the ring of truth. It springs from the tongue like a frightened toad, aiming its horny skin into the eyes of those who would seek to catch it. Were you to devour a million truths you would never find them all and you'd still be as hungry as when you first started - so beware, husband, lest you choke.
GREY GOOSE: On a frog in my throat? Have you gone mad? There are no frogs on this island, woman - in case you hadn't noticed your entire life. I suppose that friend of yours from New Zealand taught you to speak with such poetry.
MS. JACKSON: New Zealand has a great literary heritage. That's something you couldn't possibly understand.
GREY GOOSE: Am I daft?
MS. JACKSON: You are a bully: a no-good, bleeding, rebel-rousing bully.
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 swatted away my mother's hand. Like I would a bug. That's when she threw the remote control. It was the prelude to an all out attack. All of a sudden I was in middle school again. The wimpy Indian kid I had made fun of in music class had come to punch me in the face again. No pain. Just shock at the sheer audacity of it.
If my wife had been present during the incident she would've been on my side. Instead she's against me. All because of a four letter word. Rape.
The backed-up toilet in the basement stinks. Three weeks it's been festering. The cats won't go down there anymore. Luckily the wife doesn't have a choice. She had me haul down the old refrigerator. So she can store her mountains of yogurt. Let her suffer.
I almost called the police. On my own mother. The look in her eyes as I restrained her. Sight unseen. So full of spite and hate. Towards her own son. If her husband hadn't come to take her upstairs I would've done it. She wasn't backing down.
I'll never win with my wife. I used to support her all the time. Until she told me to stop. She said, "Don't coach me. I don't need a coach." So I stopped. I listen to my wife. When she apologizes I'll be there to hear it. I'll accept. That's what husbands do. They listen. They accept. God help them. They clog the toilet.
The day after my own mother attacked me she had the gall to complain to me that her wrists hurt. She told me she would never forget what I did. I wanted to laugh but my wife was there. That's how it got started.
To promote democracy, the strong must empty themselves of their strength. The weak must be granted the opportunity to grow strong. We cannot force the end of patriarchy. To do so simply perpetuates feudalism under a different name.
Help maintain the "Nobel Literature Winners" page up and running...
If you love women and art...
Michal's exporting art from Poland...is he screwy?
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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