Michal wants to name his film production company after a feminist cafe... What is he thinking?
Posted:
To me, the vagina is a symbol of equality and acceptance. In our modern age, we may not all have passed through one, but the door is always open - to everything, for better or for worse. I want to protect that idea. I want others to open themselves up to the needs of others. I want them to listen.
Through hard work and perseverance, I've learned to start listening to women. I'd be proud to give everyone a chance to make that lesson stick for them.
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...
In June of 2011 I arrived in Europe for what I hoped would be a great adventure; my only concrete plan, to visit Croatia. By September I had driven 6,000 miles and visited 12 different countries, all with a woman I met on the first Friday of my trip.
I knew naturism was popular in many parts of Europe and as an artist who had worked on body acceptance for his entire career I was keen on documenting some small part of it. Lo and behold, I found a very important part of it hiding in Poland. Her name was Margo.
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: Free Short Stories
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 Free Short Stories
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the words "free short stories."
Video of me pronouncing "free short stories."
Definition of Free Short Stories
Free Short Stories are short stories that either people are handing out on the street (unlikely) or they're publishing them online without a pay wall (very likely).
References for free short stories
I have yet to find good references for Free Short Stories
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 #776
i cant find apple. i drove by the freeway. i drove by the railroad. i think she ducked into one of the corner shops. shes hiding from me.
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.
Gradually, the information leaked out that the man suspected of organizing the whole thing was not, like the rest of the terrorists, an outer-space pirate, but was, in fact, a once infamous Martian citizen, who, in the months leading up to the Revolution, had been suspected of several assassinations in the province of Elysium. Before the fall of the Martian government, and the subsequent loss of contact with the red planet, the man had been charged and arrested for two murders. What he was doing on Earth organizing a terrorist action was anybody's guess. Before long, the information leaked out that the space ship had been packed with nothing but bottles of air, food, and massive amounts of water - barrels and barrels of it. The man himself had nothing to say except for the fact that some kind of entity named Zeus was the impetus behind his actions. Many of his statements were made public. "Zeus will come to Earth to avenge your sins," he said. "Zeus will free the prisoners," he said. "Zeus will make me free!"
Oh Bartolomeo! Maestro da canne! For whom the Republic of Venice gave thanks! You gave hope to the weak and weary! More strength to the strong! A lifeline for Freedom! A slicker noose for the wrong! You gave both cold and hot, forward and back; a wife to the tyrant, and life to the revolutionary son; fear to the many, and rule to the one. You were indifferent. As long as people paid, you made guns. If not for you, what would've happened? Somebody else would've taken your smoky rank in the annals of industry: grandfather of arms! You gave your descendents an unparalleled legacy: your long and hard barrels, shooting with unflinching consistency, ensured over the centuries that your plant would not be torn from your family's hands. Berettas live on! They still make their weapons! They sell them! So don't be surprised that Jesus tried the same.
In the following minutes, your mother kept wiggling herself downward. At first, Jesus had no idea what was going on. (His left hand was cupping her breast.) Then he realized: she was pushing up her shirt. Her brassiere was gone, having been removed before going to bed. Jesus was perfectly free to place his cupping hand around her waist, and then, on the way back to where it just had been, to slip it ever so innocently underneath her shirt and to place it directly on her naked skin. He did that. Your mother was now breathing heavily.
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.
A short, ugly skinhead replied: "We are collecting bills for your friend." Fucking Luka. Damn it!
"How much?"
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 4, The Fourth Day, Part 1, Our Constitution & Constitutional Reform, Section 2, Dealing with Creditors, Paragraphs 3-4
"Keep your eyes open, Luka - and look for that woman! I have to find her no matter what it takes." Nike took a long, deep drag. His lungs held it for a while, for a very good, long while. "Marc. Oh, man. Luka: please park in a good place," Nike said, exhaling. "We have to find her." But Luka said nothing. Rothko was now smoking, so Nike looked out the window at the freak show. How disgusting, he thought. And then he took another drag of opium: a short one. Then Rothko had one more drag, and they were done, the rest being left for Luka, the unfortunate chauffeur. His passengers were already relaxing, but he was still looking for a good place to park, and finally, stopping in a good spot, he turned around and took the pipe.
There was a suitcase by the stairs and a blanket or something lying on top. I waited, standing in the foyer. After a short while, Indiana came in from the drawing room and put a bag down by the suitcase. Greeting me briskly, she said Albert would be ready soon. We shared a quick smile before she turned around, and, climbing the stairs hastily, she disappeared from view. I did not watch her climb; I sat down on the little bench and waited.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 4, The Fourth Day, Part 2, The Assembly & Government Reform, Section 6, Being Obedient, Paragraph 27
NIKE: A black tunic! See: I told ya not to mess with me. Whoa! whoa! Watch out! Looks like you got short-chained. Hey, let's see if they can crawl fast enough to catch me.
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 woman's gastrocnemius bulged. With the humble soleus, it pulled her heel: oh splendid tuber! growth that takes the brunt of our standing, balancing our attempts at uprightness, seed from which blossoms man, which the serpent bites, protect yourself from harm; may we lift you as you walk: that you might crush the serpent. May all our heels be protected. May they not be spoiled by weight. May they glide across earth fearing no evil, no serpents, no stones to bash them. May they be as beautiful as that woman's heel, flying as it was across the road of my dream, casting small, delicate shadows.
"I'll tell you where. In my opinion, the best place is a swinger bar. Paris has great ones. You need to be lucky. Sometimes you find an orgy. Sometimes there's a bunch of women in their sixties-which I don't mind, if they're hot."
The light emitting diodes of the console spelled out the time. It was the middle of the night. The dashboard, awash in a dim glow, seemingly floated-a stage lit with miniature footlights. It was polyvinyl chloride. It was dark-like burgundy. Hard, smooth, horizontal, finite, it complemented the straight and endless road. It was: the cross of the crucifixion. I blinked. Was that right? Was the dashboard the beam? the road, the pole plunging headlong into earth? Whither did it will me go?
"It's alright. It's like the Bois de Vincennes only better. Instead of vans, they're parked in beamers. They're the most expensive girls in Paris. They're clean-most of the time. You get to go to an apartment. It's fun: millionaire alley. We should drive by. Where are we anyway? You turned off the road. We're in the middle of nowhere."
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.
ALICE: I forgive you. Be a man once more.
FLETCHER: With a man's heart, I thank you. No longer must you fear my advances. The object of our intimacy has been achieved. I intend to follow your lead and pledge my life to the woman I love.
ALICE: Do I know her?
FLETCHER: You do. I love Kokomo with all my heart. My soul yearns for her soul's touch.
ALICE: In that case, let's finish these scenes in celebration of your restored manhood and your love for Kokomo.
FLETCHER: I know just the right page from which to start. 'What a blessed thing it is to confess! The firmly wound nut, when leashed to its bolt, will weather every blow. No strain is so big, no pressure so strong, no hand so steady, nor no patience so long that would eventually break the metal's hold when applied to just one end. It would turn forevermore in tantalizing defiance. Bring two solid hands together - with two worthy hearts - one to hold tight the bolt, the other to untwist his soul - and you shall feel the immediate release that with it brings joy, the work of resolution, and the ease which maketh that work seem slight.'
ALICE: Well proclaimed, poet!
FLETCHER: If only the rest were so good.
ALICE: I have no doubt it will be.
FLETCHER: As a show of thanks for your faith, I hereby expunge certain kisses from this scene, restoring to its solitary glory the one final kiss of the scene's end - if I may be so bold.
– ACT II, lines 194-203
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: '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
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 thought Norfolk had a checkered past. Being a former prison colony's prison colony is nothing next to Pitcairn.
ALICE: I would never have imagined it was like that. I thought it was a paradise.
FLETCHER: I'm writing a play about it - specifically about the woman who chopped off that man's head. She's an ancestor of mine. Maybe later we can go over a few scenes.
ALICE: I'd love to.
FLETCHER: If your neck doesn't still hurt.
ALICE: I'm feeling much better now, thank you.
FLETCHER: If you strained it, you strained it. I have to say, you have surprisingly little tension.
ALICE: It's my honeymoon. I've been having lots of sex.
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
On the next day one of the old men was back. I asked him to come inside but he stayed at the window. He wanted to know where I was from. I gave him a brief history of my country and we started arguing over European aid to Africa and whether the Soviet Union was right to have ever been there. It seemed like no matter what I said I was wrong. At least the man treated me like a civil human being. Until he got angry with me and left. I went back to teaching my imaginary class.
Khalifa was the first to break. It wasn't enough to be harassed and called dirty chocolate. When his neighbors found out he was a Muslim, a gang of hooligans came to his apartment and attacked him in broad daylight. He had to jump out of his kitchen window to get away. He lived on the fourth floor. He died in hospital a few days later.
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.
Obama took it the hardest. Any sound, any silent white face staring at him made him run around the corner. He never stopped talking about leaving. He wanted to go to France. Never mind that he didn't speak a word of French. He was obsessed with the idea of being in Paris. As far as I know he's there now. He just disappeared one day. If Barack knew something he never told me.
I almost didn't go to see Barack. I was ashamed of the time he asked me to move in with him and I said no. It was right after Obama disappeared. There were skinheads crawling all over Moscow looking for Africans to beat. Barack thought it would be safer if we lived together. I didn't disagree. It would have been cheaper too but I was used to my own apartment. That's what I told Barack. I never liked him much. Obama was always goofing off. He was a trickster. He was fun to be around. Barack was always in a bad mood. It could have been partly because of Obama. I don't know.
Life is a spinning sphere with Joy at one pole and Sadness at the other. Each continuously feeding its pair. Joy flanked by the emotions of Trust on one side, Surprise on the other. Trust leading to Anticipation; anticipation leading to Fear. Surprise leading to Disgust; disgust leading to Anger. Anger and Fear fueling our Sadness. Sadness giving way, in time, to Joy; through Hope, an orientation towards Love. Love, an openness towards Joy, Trust and Surprise; the sum of emotion; emotion amplified by others. Multiplied and divided, in equal parts. Such that to those from whom it has been subtracted, we must add. Until we are whole.
Help me keep the "Free Short Stories" page alive...
If you love women and art...
Michal's 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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