Michal believes in helping women through film... Is he a fool?
Posted:
Feminism is a name for a philosophy that is centered around the needs of women. I call myself a feminist inasmuch as I try to listen to those needs and to treat them as if they were my own. It doesn't mean that I always meet those needs. That isn't a task for one man nor is it something that we as a society can necessarily do. But we can learn to be honest listeners.
By bringing myself to the point where I can actually listen to women, I want to show everyone that it's possible.
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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The 20th Fiat Road Race
1st Polish Championship for Women in a 10 km Road Race
As the award ceremony for the 20th Fiat Road Race drags on, Margo, proprietor of the Vagina Cafe, is finally allowed to present the gifts she sponsored for the last 20 women who finished the race.
Help Replace Insult With Truth in Art
Posted:
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...
Europe, the summer of 2011. Twelve countries. 46 days. One car. One tent. One man. One woman he's just met.
As an artist inspired by a young woman's struggle with self-esteem and bulimia, body acceptance had always featured prominently in my aesthetic. Having recently discovered naturism and its mantra of body acceptance in the United States, I was eager to explore the style and philosophy of naturist clubs and the beauty of naturist campsites in Europe. By a trick of fate, I found myself first in Bielsko-Biała, Poland. Margo's home.
Being from America, all I had to do in Europe was turn on the radio to hear an American song. All I had to do was walk into a movie theater to see an American movie. To be understood all I had to do was speak English. Being from Poland, she couldn't stand listening to the radio for all the political nonsense being bandied about. She didn't like watching American movies because she claimed they all ended the same way. She didn't want to speak English with me because she not only wanted to say things correctly but she wanted to say them her way and nobody had ever succeeded in teaching her how. I desperately wanted to understand. She wanted to be understood.
There were times during our trip when I thought there might not be a happy ending. There were times when disaster was close and I wondered whether I hadn't made a mistake. I wondered whether fear, anger or sadness might triumph and one of us would have to finished the journey alone. Though I dangled from the cliffs of Normady I was saved. Though the lights went out I rode on. Though I ran the tires down to the wire I was okay. We drove home in one piece. We came home happy. We had started the process of learning how to listen and the sound of it was beautiful. We could be sure that we were ready to conquer the devils that abuse us no matter how long it would take.
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: Realistic Fiction Definition
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 Realistic Fiction Definition
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the words "realistic fiction definition."
Video of me pronouncing "realistic fiction definition."
Definition of Realistic Fiction Definition
A Realistic Fiction Definition is what you look for when you're trying to write something relevent and you're not sure how to do that.
References for realistic fiction definition
I have yet to find good references for Realistic Fiction Definition
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 #4266
im back on the first window sill. the bathroom is definitely shared. i see a sliver of light. im going in.
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.
If your father had known that, he might have had his lieutenants wait: they were his only family, and, despite their self-respect, they were definitely not Capitalists - but neither was your father, for that matter - or at least, he didn't feel like one. In real terms, he was very much a Capitalist, a recent Capitalist; but no matter how recent one's fortune, if there was a fortune, there was a Capitalist. New Capitalists were not made all the time - in fact, for the established Capitalist, the only thing more exciting than new capital was a new Capitalist. You never knew what to expect. He or she might destroy you; he or she might make you very rich: he or she might make you a Supercapitalist. Then you would thank him or her. But if he or she destroyed you, then you might just commit murder. And the penalty for killing a Capitalist was death. The penalty for killing a Supercapitalist was bankruptcy and death. It was known to happen quite often, even among Capitalists.
For the word asthmaticus, there was only the word ASTHMA: noun: middle English asma, from medieval Latin, modification of Greek asthma. First reference: fourteenth century. Definition: a condition often of allergic origin that is marked by continuous or paroxysmal labored breathing accompanied by wheezing, by a sense of constriction in the chest, and often by attacks of coughing or gasping - ASTHMATIC, adjective or noun; ASTHMATICALLY, adverb.
The Google Protocol was designed with a single, definitive purpose in mind: to eliminate the further emission of deleterious gases into Earth's atmosphere. On the face of it, the protocol was a fail-safe emergency measure that, theoretically speaking, would or would not be implemented according to how well Earth's governments could stem the growing tide of emissions in the meantime. In reality, the Protocol was a way of pressuring the United States government, isolating it, and embarrassing its citizens. There was a reason why the Americans were not expected ever to ratify the Protocol. That reason was coal. America had more of it in economically recoverable reserves than any other country on Earth. Most of it was located in areas devastated by Yellowstone, communities no longer able to support themselves by agricultural activity of any kind. They fed themselves by selling their coal; it was life. The Protocol was not going to rob them of it, but it was going to make them beg - that was unavoidable.
There was a large gymnasium: it was huge. On the other side, there were deaf kids. For some reason, they were always standing around in a row, facing me - that's how I remember them. They were always far away. They might have been retards. For all I knew, they were a different species of man. They were huge. They were disproportionate. Some of them had big heads. They would wave their arms about and make funny noises. They talked funny. They talked like deaf people. Nobody told me they were deaf - how did I know? I don't remember. Maybe they weren't deaf, but they were definitely something. They were senseless. Their arms were waving around senselessly. These people were senseless - I remember thinking that. Your father was different: he put needles into his body. But these people were senseless. They made no sense. They made noises. They stood around making noises, waving their arms around. What were they saying? I didn't know. They were strange: like me - but I was different. I didn't wave my arms around. More importantly, they were together: they were a group. They were many; and I was one. They were lucky for it - I felt it. I understood, however faintly: they had each other, and I was alone. I ran back to the brown woman, the one from a strange place called Sri Lanka. The one who wore strange clothes: she was different, and she was alone. I liked her. What a strange dot she had: nobody else had one.
But I doubted it. The newspapers had been full of stories about the general defense-budget crisis for the past several months; the crisis was particularly painful in Silesia, where the provincial government, a raggedy assortment of bureaus without a clearly defined leadership, and which, up till then, had taken no part in military affairs, being told by the national government to start covering its 'own' costs (overburdened as Parliament was by federal requirements to the European Union), and being faced with two new hungry swine, the Silesian Air Squadron and the 2nd Infantry Brigade, decided, according to the generous fashion, to delegate one of its newly endowed responsibilities to a local organ of government, and, since the 2nd Infantry had, as its base, a meager five hundred hectares within the city environs of Wroclaw, the thankless job of maintaining military effectiveness for the 2nd Infantry remained in the hands of its commander, a certain General Stefan Lipski, while the terrible onus of paying for it fell squarely onto the shoulders of Edward Handerek, President of Wroclaw, who claimed he didn't have the money for it either.
A literature book narrated by a pair of siblings on either side of the Atlantic whose profoundly weird sexual experiences pose a serious challenge to their traditional understanding of mathematicians, marriage, gay young men and God.
There was an awkward pause. My unfortunate pupil, unsure of how to proceed, was forced to relinquish her script, and, turning to me, said rather sheepishly, "My cousin vas saying to me, how good your face eez.
Such wonder I experience whenever I reflect on the origins of my relationship with Macy. It was so long ago, we were both so young then but I remember it vividly, and completely, unlike a great many other experiences that have distilled themselves into particular moments of feeling or have now decomposed into dark and cloudy snapshots of action. No, this memory is living. It accompanies me - you will enjoy this - whenever I pass a church drunk, and sometimes during general intercessions too.
None of this was done consciously - and yet, I admit: these things were born of conscious jealousy, executed in unconscious retribution - all under the spell of the most painful of conscious loves.
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.
The next day, they reached the border. The bus driver collected bribes from the traders. Inside the small, poorly lit station, the guards were generous enough to offer certain medical certificates. They claimed the Chinese officials would ask for them.
Polina offered her passport. The guard looked it over. "Apollinariya Baranova."
"You will find it in yourself," said Tae. "I know that. Out of all of us, you are the strongest. You were tested. We indulged our weaknesses. You alone faced a challenge. In failing, you learned the difficulties of overcoming pressure."
"What about Jutsu," asked Bo, "or his wife, Bei? They are far more deserving than me."
Miss April got close. Tatum put her hands on the woman's hips. They kissed three times. They embraced. Tatum nuzzled her face into Miss April's soft, blond hair. She broke off. She picked up her bags. She walked away. She passed the line for passengers. She told herself not to turn around. She did. She smiled. Miss April waved. Tatum looked away. She had come to the moon to avoid these things.
The passport officer checked Tatum's papers for longer than necessary. He beckoned for a guard. A bewildered Tatum was escorted into a room. Inside stood Doc Uzumaki.
They passed a house with a red roof. Three minutes later, they passed another one. The driver explained they were pumping stations. People signed up to live and work in them for six months. Officially, his cousins lived in three of them. Unofficially, one lived in Shanghai; another in Beijing. The third ran a brothel in Quiemo. They each earned eighty dollars a month. They split it equally with him. He smiled. "Big money."
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.
FLETCHER: If he came to you in penitence, would you accept him?
MS. JACKSON: That's difficult for me to say.
FLETCHER: It's not. Tell us. If he were sorry, would you forgive him?
MS. JACKSON: If he came to me repentant of his sins - I mean all of them - I would forgive him. I would consider allowing him to return to this house. Do you think I don't want him? I want him more than you could ever know. I want him in a way that, unfortunately, I have never had him. I won't settle for less than I deserve. That's all I'm going to say on the subject. It upsets me. Your father has behaved strangely in the past; as of late, his actions have been frightening me. Maybe it is the climate around here - I'm not going to take any chances.
(to KOKOMO) I want you to watch out for him, in case he should try to violate you.
FLETCHER: That is unwarranted.
MS. JACKSON: It may have taken a hundred and fifty years for another murder to occur, but we are not immune to rape. We need only bear witness to what took place on Pitcairn in recent times. Six men were found guilty of sexual offenses. That's almost the entire adult male population over there. I'm not going to let that happen around here - not while I'm alive. Do you understand? As soon as you're done with this mess, Kokomo, I would like these towels to go to the laundry. We have all of Lesbian's things to wash.
KOKOMO: I have a question, ma'am.
MS. JACKSON: Yes?
KOKOMO: Will our guest from New Zealand be staying with us for considerably longer than planned? If that's the case, I'm going to have to make a new schedule.
– ACT I, lines 1320-1329
(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
LUKE: Misprision?
LESBIAN: Neglect of official duty.
ALICE: Why don't you tell them about your thing, Luke?
LUKE: What thing?
ALICE: You know.
LUKE: Absolutely not.
ALICE: What's wrong?
LUKE: It's embarrassing.
FLETCHER: You must.
ALICE: Come on. It's not so bad.
– ACT I, lines 167-176
KOKOMO: It is. I keep telling you that.
FLETCHER: Maybe for Catholics: you have thousands of years of ritual to fall back on: Popes and bishops to decide for you.
KOKOMO: That's not fair.
FLETCHER: I'm supposed to be my own priest.
KOKOMO: Maybe you should start praying.
FLETCHER: For what? For the will to become Catholic?
KOKOMO: You know what I am. You've taken the time to study what my faith requires. I'm overjoyed by that. I realize it angers you sometimes. You need to remember it isn't about priests or prayer or sacraments or the Bible or saints or miracles or doctrine or creed. It's not even about salvation. It's about sacrifice. If you, Fletcher Christian, are not willing to place yourself into the hands of God - to submit yourself to His Divine Mercy - then nothing else matters and there will never be any happiness between us.
FLETCHER: I see that.
KOKOMO: You don't see it.
FLETCHER: How can you tell?
– ACT I, lines 1342-1351
MS. JACKSON: I will go insane if I don't find out.
GREY GOOSE: It's all very simple. These two have been running a racket: a confidence game. Kokomo plays the prostitute, whose story is so ridiculous it must be true. Finding out for oneself is the challenge. If she's the best lay in the South Pacific, one should know the difference.
FLETCHER: Satisfaction guaranteed.
GREY GOOSE: Cash comes rolling in.
MS. JACKSON: I don't understand. What happens when-
FLETCHER: By the time they get to bed, they think she's a charity case.
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
As a child Steve O was fed the dream of being a womanizer. His preteen idol was a teenage womanizer. His teenage idol was a college-age womanizer. By the time he got to college he had already made the transition to full-fledged letch. Strip them down to the socks was his motto. He practically moved in to the place where it happened. The dressing room.
"I'm sorry," said Orbitz. "I must be mistaken." He turned to the door. The surveillance team watched him come outside. He looked left. He looked right. He crossed the street. There was a cheap hotel on the other side. Orbitz got himself a room on the second floor. The surveillance team pointed their little parabolic dishes. They heard nothing but breathing.
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.
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.
Your purchases keep the "Realistic Fiction Definition" page up and running...
If you love women and art...
Michal is importing art from Poland...is he brainsick?
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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