Author's Note: I have been enjoined from sharing the details of my true romance adventure until such time that the other party is prepared to present her perspective on the affair arrangement...
On the second to last weekend of June, 2011, I had joined my fellow naturists at a gathering of the Naturist Society in rural Pennsylvania. The next day I left on a flight for Europe. By the end of the week I had unexpectedly met another naturist, a woman, who was destined to accompany me on a tour of Europe's great naturist resorts.
Though I felt fully formed as a writer, and had been trained in visual language, it was my first time with a professional camera in my hands. I was just learning the ins and outs and had come to Europe to find as diverse a selection of subject matter as possible, preferably something that fit my aesthetic devotion to promoting body acceptance. Enter 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.
Margo and I spent over 40 days on the road. We started out as basically strangers, but in those 40 days we started listening to each other. We started teaching ourselves how to cooperate. Our journey across Europe may have ended, but our journey towards each other continues. No amount of fear, anger, sadness, disgust or anticipation can stop hope. Slowly but surely, we're learning how to beat the devils that abuse us.
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: Literature Novels
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 Literature Novels
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the words "literature novels."
Video of me pronouncing "literature novels."
Definition of Literature Novels
Literature Novels are the books countries are proud of.
References for literature novels
I have yet to find good references for Literature Novels
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 #1609
theres a guy here who says hes working on a train thats out of this world. literally. it goes into outer space. thats crazy.
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.
Looking through his binoculars, he watched your mother go to a generous middle-aged woman who was offering tomato soup from a large pot and three-liter plastic bottles. Jesus watched as Zoe tried to ask if she could have some soup. Of course she could have some soup - but she didn't have a cup. The woman gave her a cup. She took the cup and filled it with tomato soup. Going back to her lopsided tent, she sat down on her haunches and sipped. Her big, beautiful brown eyes looked left, then right. What was she looking for? asked Jesus to himself. For whom was she looking?
"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.
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."
"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.
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.
Nor did you tell me that Albert, after apologizing to you, decided to leave the house, nor the fact that after he left, Indiana came downstairs, sobbing, so that she could also apologize, and "by the way" ask you (through her tears) what you had been playing. Now did you visibly smile at this incongruity, or were you able to refrain yourself? And when you quietly said "Liszt," and Indiana said "oh," did you think she didn't really register his name? I suppose what I mean to ask is: when you sort of charmingly mumbled, "he's an excellent Hungarian composer," did you expect her to giggle? Because Mother seems to think that you did, and that you said that in order to cheer her up - which I'm sure you did, because apparently Indiana said so herself. But I am not convinced that this was your only expectation, especially after I heard that you then offered to play him again, optimistic that this time he would indeed compose her.
Looking over what I've written, I find only a few pages of conceit - no substance. All this talk about sharing looks: it reminds me much too strongly of my last letter to you, that e-mail I sent you: the long one I wrote on the train. I know it was a while ago - how infrequently we write! - but I hope you remember it; now that I think of it, I realize there are some valuable lessons to be learned from my experience - although I suppose I've already learned them, which is probably why my sermonizing has been so eager. This, then, is my excuse: if you will forgive my presumption, rest assured: it comes from genuine experience and from genuine concern, albeit the former is not nearly as fresh as the latter, since it's been so long since I last bothered dealing with such trivialities.
Now I understand that you may be unaware of certain conditions. And I also understand that you may be superstitiously afraid of discussing a situation that is not only beyond your direct control but upon which your own feelings and desires precariously hinge. But how do you expect me to help you when you neglect to mention your own involvement? Considering what you have told me, don't you think it's important to mention everything else? I have to hear it from our mother? who, of course, has to hear it from Indiana? Did you honestly think it wouldn't reach me? How can you be so childish? You were obviously well aware that I knew nothing about it; I would have chastised you immediately. Liszt! Of all people, you decide to play Liszt! You know how twisted that is.
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.
Neither one would budge. His mother called the boy Lorenzo. Manfredo called him Lothario. Ferrari himself had been named after a character in Boccaccio's Il Decamerone, though his father had probably never read anything by Boccaccio, or by anyone at all for that matter. He had heard it from an erudite and completely accidental drinking partner. His usual associates were not the literary type.
"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."
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?"
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've never seen a woman as proud as my mother is. As dignified as she tries to be. Lose control of herself in such a disgusting way. She lunged for the computer. She tried to stick her hand between the screen and the keyboard to prevent me from shutting it. As if it were a cannon primed to fire. Aimed at me. And all she had to do was light the fuse.
We need only refer to nineteenth century French literature to confirm this. According to Anatole France, Saint Paphnutius was destroyed by a look. Struck by the sight of Thais on stage, as she played the role of pure-hearted Polyxena, lifting the curtain with her white arm, pride and resignation in her violet eyes, the hermit monk, sent to save the whore from her dissipation, grew so infatuated with her image, learning later she was on her death bed, surrounded by her fellow nuns, he begged her petulantly not to die, rejecting Heaven, as she rose, moments before her final breath, to proclaim a vision of God with such rapture in her eyes, it held for poor Paphnutius the profound emptiness of his own soul. He turned into a vampire. That is the power of a look.
My wife's pride is the only thing keeping us apart. She's always had an inferiority complex. Always pissed that I have the right answer. I keep telling her its not her fault. I'm older. I had a head start. She's strong. Eventually she'll be able to do everything I can do. As soon as I'm dead.
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.
My father thinks I'm being immature. He doesn't realize I'm trying to mock him. It's all his fault. Pretending to cheat on his wife. As if he didn't know it would cause a disaster. For two years my mother refused him sex. Why would she think he was pretending?
St. Sebastian was a member of the Roman Emperor's praetorian guard who had the audacity to teach Christian values while on the job. I think active duty American military men and women who don't vote or who don't publicly express a political opinion because of the uniform are either being idiotic or are being cowed by the threat of punishment from a superior. Either way, they're eunuchs. My purpose in creating the St. Sebastian Series is to put the flesh and face of the true soldier front and center. The good soldier puts his mission ahead of himself. He often ends up dead. The true soldier knows a bad mission when he sees one and he isn't afraid to say it. Saint Sebastian was not a cow, despite what clever people would have you believe. Saint Sebastian is a patron saint for all protestors who face the arrows of the mob for speaking out.
Your purchases keep the "Literature Novels" page...
If you love women and art...
Michal's importing Polish art...is he loony?
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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