Help Treat Antisocial Personality Disorder With Art
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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...
On Monday, I arrived in Europe. By Wednesday I had bought a car. By Friday I had met the woman who a few months later would end up having travelling 6,000 miles across Europe with me.
I had come to Europe to experience European naturism, a movement whose philosophy matched my aesthetic of body acceptance and whose organizational structure and leadership I had thought almost exclusively restricted to the western half of the continent. I was shocked to learn that naturism had an official home in Poland, a country not especially known for its liberal culture. I was less shocked to discover that the home was owned by a Dutchman, but even more shocked to learn that it had been largely built by Margo.
I had grown up in America. Land of opportunity. I came of age in the booming 90s when everything was possible. She had grown up in Poland. She had come of age at a time when the Soviets were making sure that there wasn't even anything to eat in the country. I couldn't even properly translate the word "opportunity" into Polish.
6,000 miles. One car. One tent. We started learning how to listen. We started learning how to open up. We started cooperating. Even when we were angry, even when it was so difficult that it didn't seem like it would turn out well, we stuck it out. We completed the trip and we came back happy. We had beaten the devil on the road. Back home more devils were waiting to abuse us. More anger. More fear. More sadness. This time we were prepared. This time we had each other and we could harken back to the joy and the trust and the suprise that 6,000 miles had created. We could remember what it was like to live in one tent.
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: Modern Wall Art
Art is the expression of an idea. Often that idea is simply the form of the expression itself, the beautiful or not-so-beautiful shape of an otherwise meaningless gesture. This is decorative art. It encompasses everything from origami to cheap romance novels. It is popular and if you want to put a decorative print on your wall, you can buy one at a place like Ikea.
Most artists with ambition create documentary art, meaning the ideas embedded in their work relate to something beyond the undulations of their expressiveness. Instead of just making a new twist, they try to make that twist seem extra clever. It means something beyond being just a twist. In the most obscene cases, an artist won't even tell you what it means and suggests you figure it out for yourself. No other profession gets away with this. It's like a prostitute who says he's not sure if he does anal.
I try not to be clever. Trying to be clever is what I used to do when I was a child and I wanted attention. I try to be right. I try to discover the truth and pass it along. I try to trust my own judgment.
I've read most of the Bible. It's not a code of laws or something you put on your coffee table because it looks nice. It's one of the greatest documentary works of art ever compiled. When common people started reading it, the Reformation happened. Not everybody read the whole thing, nor did they necessarily understand what they did read, which is why not everything got reformed in the right direction. In their defense though, some parts of the Bible aren't even written in the right way. We all make mistakes. It doesn't mean we shouldn't keep working towards the right reform. That is the idea at the basis of the best art. It's the idea that I'm going to keep repeating because I am too old to be clever.
Pronunciation of Modern Wall Art
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the words "modern wall art."
Video of me pronouncing "modern wall art."
Definition of Modern Wall Art
I have yet to publish the definition of Modern Wall Art.
I'm sure it won't take too long.
References for modern wall art
I have yet to find good references for Modern Wall Art
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 #5315
i thought the control tower would be a gold mine of electrical cable. its all stuck inside the walls. i dont have time to rip it out.
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.
"In those days," Jesus said, "the whole morning - from dawn to high noon - was required just to walk down the main avenue in town - and the approach to the monastery didn't end before the walls: you were pushed up the hill, into the church, and across the chapel and you were pushed out. People were paying homage all day long, not just after Mass. They didn't care if you had to miss Mass, 'cause inside the chapel, you were capable of stopping only long enough to kneel in front of the blessed icon; you had to cross yourself and say whatever it is you had to say on your way out. That's how fast they had to pump pilgrims back in those days."
Was he really going to do it? he thought to himself. Was he really going to rob a Krupnik? Jesus was out of breath - he was really out of breath: his lungs hurt. What about his future brother-in-law? Jesus thought. Was he really going to attack two people at once with his bare hands? Impossible: Jesus shook his head. There was no way he was going to do it. He was going to watch them walk by with impunity and let them go home to their many-storied mansions, their glass palaces, their filtered paradises - he was a miserable human being! He was weak and defenseless! He was a bad person! Jesus sank to his haunches and rubbed his face. Mother was dead! A little girl was buried! Her neck was broken! A beautiful face bloodied! She fell from a third-story window onto concrete! Jesus rubbed his face and got up. He turned around. He rubbed his face against red brick. He beat his head. He beat the brick wall with his hands. Then he rubbed his face again: in the red brick: he tried to smush his face into the wall. It helped. Jesus was quiet. He wondered where they were. What was taking so long? Maybe they had left. Maybe they were gone. Maybe Jesus had missed them. O God! he prayed. Make it so I've missed them! Make it so I don't have to choose. Then he heard them. There were footsteps. He turned around. He put his back against the wall again. He sidestepped his way into a more complete darkness. There they were! crossing the street! This was it. Jesus didn't move. He thought about it: for a split-second, he almost moved a leg - but no: there was nothing. He was going to let them walk by with impunity. Go ahead, he said to himself. Go back to your filtered paradises - leave me the fuck alone.
Jesus followed them onto the main road. He knew that they were parked at Town Square - he had seen their car on the way back to the club: who else could possibly have driven a custom-made sports car into Treblinka? Only a Krupnik. As far as Jesus knew, this was the only Krupnik in town that night. If his car was parked at Town Square, Jesus could beat them to it. At the fork in the road (where the Town Office Building was), Jesus veered left, onto Church Road, which led directly to the Church of Sts. Peter and Paul - whereas they had turned right, continuing along the main road which led directly to Town Square. Jesus started running. He ran all along Church Road, uphill, turning right onto Linden Flower Road in front of the brick church's red walls and black-shuttered windows, which were closed. He sprinted all the way to the main road. When he got there, he wasn't sure if he were late or on time; he wasn't about to check around the corner. He put his back against the wall.
The trail narrowed. Jesus led the way down the bottom of the mountain to Basement Road. Its colorful, graffiti-filled walls greeted them through the foliage. "Is it safe?" asked Zoe, timidly.
That's when Sadatmo struck. There was much petroleum to be gained, and besides, A/COMP workers had been trying to incite his employees. Everyone was on Sadatmo's side: Martians, the Americans: nobody wanted to see the A/COMP workers win. But Sadatmo didn't make it: A/COMP was simply too much for him to swallow. Dhagbod was finished: after eight years of fighting, the belligerents agreed to a UN-brokered cease-fire. Two years passed and nothing happened. Then, all of a sudden, peace talks were held: Sadatmo was stirring.
A literature book narrated by a pair of siblings on either side of the Atlantic whose profoundly weird sexual experiences pose a serious challenge to their traditional understanding of mathematicians, marriage, gay young men and God.
But my knees - for all their nervous power - they were only capstones on a hollow gate: as the feeling spilled over the wall and began trickling down the channels of my legs, prickling my nerves one by one, they proved themselves feeble barriers, and around my heart I began preparing my defense, for I knew that if that feeling were to reach my heart, I would not be able to control myself. Like the ancient Tyburn, coming down the heath, my feeling gathered force and began flooding the muddy tidal flats of my bowel.
– Title 2, Regarding the Romaniac, Part 1, Section 14, Feelings, Paragraph 1, Clauses 9-11
NIKE: Here: I'll show you the money. You see: this is my wallet. This is a thousand Euro.
As he was leaning against the walls of the cloister, Nike slid down to the ground, collapsing on the street like a beggar. That very night, he went to the nearest church: by the name of St. Ignatius.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 6, The Sixth Day, Part 1, Children & Education Reform, Section 6, Encountering Chastity, Paragraph 5
Hungry people appreciate that rumbling: it is something that momentarily fills the revolving emptiness; one is reminded of one's fate, but that person may still relish the largeness, the otherwise hidden proportions of her emptiness, as the rumbling presses against her walls and reverberates.
Soon enough, she was swallowed by the waiting crowd. They were all waiting to get it on. They might as well have all been naked: I could see right through their clothes. They were all coming in droves: like bees: coming on, getting off. The train kept going in and out of tunnels.
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.
"Go to America. Tell them how beautiful road is in China. They will not believe. It is. I ask you: two things man build and see from space? One, Great Wall of China. Two, Great Highway in Tarim Basin, also in China-but more important: my province, Xinjiang. Long live Xinjiang. Long live China."
Tatum walked briskly. Her heels clicked against the tiles. The sound echoed throughout the dark building. Tatum realized it was sunset. By the time she passed the last partition, she could barely make out the sign of the black trefoil in front of her.
She turned. Her heels snapped on the tiles. A figure, half-submerged, leaned against the far wall.
The voice on the radio zipped, "Shaq kicks off the side of the small hill. He leaps into the air. The ball bounces off the far wall. Shaq reaches back. He scoops up the ball. He tosses it into his other hand. He stuffs it into the crater. The buzzer sounds. The Blackguards triumph eleven balls to ten! It's victory for Sams Town!"
Tatum watched the rockets blow. A cloud of dust mushroomed around them. Moon rocks scattered. The ship climbed. The flames cut out. The thrusters sputtered into action. Up in the airless sky, the small, white box slipped through the peaks of eternal light. The sun glistened off its surface. Tatum followed it for as long as she could-until the darkness of the lunar night swallowed it.
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.
(KOKOMO moans again.)
MS. JACKSON: There it is again.
LESBIAN: I heard it.
MS. JACKSON: It sounds like-
KOKOMO: (off) It's so big!
MS. JACKSON: Kokomo!
GREY GOOSE: (off) Don't worry. It'll fit.
MS. JACKSON: Grey Goose!
KOKOMO: (off) Just stick it in there.
GREY GOOSE: (off) Patience, my dear. I don't want to tear your walls.
– ACT I, lines 928-936
LESBIAN: How would he feel if he saw us?
MS. JACKSON: What does it matter?
LESBIAN: It does.
MS. JACKSON: Why?
LESBIAN: I don't want hurt him either.
MS. JACKSON: Is that what you're afraid of? Are you afraid of what people might say?
LESBIAN: That's ridiculous.
MS. JACKSON: Are you afraid of having to stay here on Norfolk?
LESBIAN: I'm not afraid of anything.
MS. JACKSON: Neither am I. I'm not afraid anymore. I'm not afraid of arson or gossip or what people might say if they knew about us. I've been set free from all of those things. I'm no longer afraid of being hurt. Oh, Homo! Do you know what I suffered? It was worse than any prison. The walls were all around my heart. It was like being perpetually pinched. I am grateful to you for saving me from all of that pain. You showed me freedom.
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
"Nobody," said John. Proctor smashed him into the wall again. He pressed his arm into his throat.
Proctor found the key. He decided a man carrying a carpet was probable cause. He entered the apartment. It didn't take long to find a photo. It was vic number three. Proctor called in the cavalry. He ordered a search. His phone rang. It was the captain. "Vic number two's fingerprints were in the database," He said. "He got busted for cocaine three years prior. I talked to his bondsman. Says an artist by the name of John Gamble put up security for him." At the sound of the name Proctor audibly swallowed. He wondered if the captain had heard.
Proctor put back the letter. It didn't mention his name. He looked around. The wall was gleaming. He went to it. He touched it. Wet paint. He looked around. There were specks of red on the floor. Blood. There were more specks. Leading towards a door. Proctor pulled his gun. He went to the door. He opened it. A bathroom. Proctor turned on the light. A body in the tub. Floating in a pool of red. John's husband.
"Stay here," said Proctor. "I'm going back to see John." When Proctor got to John's building, there was a squad car outside. An officer behind the wheel. Upstairs his partner stood outside John's door.
"Just you?" asked Proctor. The officer nodded. "Okay. Have a smoke."
"Thanks, boss." The man walked off. Proctor knocked on the door. When John opened it, Proctor busted it wide. He threw John against the wall.
Proctor backed out of the bathroom. He looked at the window. There was a fire escape outside. It went up to the loft. Proctor went to look outside. He realized the window was unlocked. He locked it. He shut the curtain. He walked to the front door. He looked outside. The hallway was empty. Proctor tiptoed out. He tried to shut the door as quietly as he could. It wouldn't shut all the way. The frame was broken. Proctor left it. He started soft-shoeing his way down the hall. He could barely swallow his spit. There was a rock in his throat. The stairs seemed like they were getting farther and farther. He finally reached them. The stairwell was empty. He walked down the stairs. The lobby was empty. Proctor took a deep breath. He went outside. He waved to the policeman in the patrol car. He got to his own car. He drove off.
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.
Your help keeps the "Modern Wall Art" page...
If you love women and art...
Michal is importing art from Poland...is he crackers?
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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