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...
Lots of people go on road trips. Not everybody criss-crosses Europe in 46 days. Especially not with a complete stranger.
Though as an artist I had been working on body acceptance since the start of my career, and as a one-time practicing figure model was used to being nude in a social setting, I had been left largely unexposed to the community of naturists and nudists working towards the same goal of promoting the human being. Visiting nude beaches and resorts along the East Coast and participating in events organized around New York by Young Naturists America, I was left hungry for more and had come to Europe to see things from their side of the pond. Margo was my introduction.
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.
As far apart culturally as we may have been, we spent 6,000 miles in one car. We spent over 40 nights in one tent. We started learning how to listen to each other. We started learning how to accept our differences and how to let them help us instead of driving us apart. Slowly but surely, we started 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: Love Languages
Love and hope. I say the words and I still wonder what it means.
I think of all the images, the poems, the quotes, the songs, the stories. The symbols.
I think of my own work, the Fiction Corpus, which I tested and analyzed because I too wanted to know what it was about. Sure enough, the words love and hope were two of the most frequent words I had used.
Clearly love and hope are a potent fuel. They've driven many a work of art. The've helped create many beautiful things. Maybe that's it.
Pronunciation of Love Languages
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the words "love languages."
Video of me pronouncing "love languages."
Definition of Love Languages
I have yet to publish the definition of Love Languages.
I'm sure it won't take too long.
References for love languages
I have yet to find good references for Love Languages
Use of Love in Michal's FictionCorpus
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 #141
ill let the girl get out a bit farther. the more i run the more out of breath ill be. dizy. plus ill blame her. for taking my breath away.
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.
My earliest memory is traveling by plane. I remember seeing darkness outside the window, then a flashing light: first darkness, then light: white light, then darkness: big and total darkness. My own reflection was there in the window: I saw myself in darkness, a flashing light between my eyes. The roar of the gas turbines was overwhelming; I cried. My mother said 'please' in Polish, repeating the word over and over again. I didn't listen. A woman dressed in blue came and said 'please' in English. I said 'please' back to her. She said, "Yes, please." I said 'yes, please' over and over again. I looked outside the window at the darkness. I saw myself in darkness, a flashing light between my eyes. The gas turbines were driving me insane. I said 'please' over and over again. I was three years old. I was going to America.
Like the Americans in space - oh, you don't understand: my dearest child, you have been sheltered! Your grandfather has prepared you for greatness. He doesn't know how great you can be. He thinks you will rule Centropolis. But you are meant for glory, not riches. If you rule, you will rule terribly. But if you fight, you will gain glory! I am calling for war, my child! Your grandfather is a coward. He wants nothing more than for you to preserve the status quo - but you would place us all in danger. Julius would move against you. He waits for your grandfather's death. He knows that once your grandfather dies, he will have a chance to seize power, and, my child, if you do nothing, he will take it away from you. Preserve yourself! Not for your own sake, but for your beloved mother's.
There was no escape. America was everywhere: ubiquitous. People had to breath it, or else hold their breaths - choke, but there was no other way - unless, of course, you bought Cheap Alaskan Air. Now that was very good air - very good air, indeed - or, at least, air in very good bottles.
The women of Earth in those days were hysterical for hand-tinted photographs: they collected them like mad. Your maternal grandmother, Tomiko Panzer-Tank (your grandfather's second wife), who was Japanese, had the greatest collection of Japanese hand-tinted photographs in the world; her photochromes were also very impressive, but these were somewhat less highly regarded. Color prints were nice, but original hand-colored photographs were gold; daguerreotypes and calotypes were priceless - absolutely priceless - if they were painted, of course. If they weren't painted, they were merely interesting.
All I see is spinning, my child: elements of red, green, blue - memories of Earth - Mars - misery. There is no peace in my mind. It spits out bile. FUCK THE EARTH it says. FUCK MARS! They are my voices. FUCK VOICES! They torment me: stop me from writing. But I must write. There is no time left. I thought maybe your grandfather might fail - maybe Julius might win. But he stays inside his volcano. He is at peace with himself. FUCK JULIUS! God bless Julius. He is a good man - a simple man. WITHOUT ZEUS, HE IS NOTHING: HE IS NOT KING. Fuck Zeus: the machine-god. Where is he? He abandons us. He is wanton. No: he is calculating. Zeus the Almighty. FUCK GOD. No! Do not curse God. God is great. God is good. Zeus is not God.
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.
Nike had another problem: the police. When they flashed him from behind, he was very grateful to be stopped. As far as Nike was concerned, this was only a brief respite from his madness, and a very welcome one at that. He was about to be rudely surprised.
She was, and remains, a woman of modest beauty. Her soul's modesty flows naturally into her body and her mind. Therefore I never suspected her innocence; it is for this reason that I have come to love her. Indeed, the circumstances of this early acquaintance involved a strange kind of love; for in those days, I was uncommonly infatuated, not with her person, or her body for that matter, but strangely enough, with her hair. I simply envied it; from every angle, under every light, with every cut she ever possessed from short to long, I was keenly aware of its brilliance. I wish I could objectively say it was exceptional, but my excitement was largely due to my fascination with the color burgundy.
Nike's demeanor was even stranger: he was something between mad and determined. His forehead was leading his body as if his brow had suddenly become twice as heavy. Looking out from underneath it, he would glance to his left side - but never to his right. Then, he would lift back his head, as if he were balancing the weight of his brow on his neck, and, in order to see, he would have to look down his nose - maybe for a change, or maybe to relieve the tension - but still, he would glance only to his left - perhaps because that side was closer to him, or perhaps he was avoiding me - but it's not like he knew I was there; besides, what am I talking about? This was a dream.
Dear brother: why should we allow ourselves to be frustrated? I for one will not allow it: I will not subject my destiny to the basest feeling. There is no force, no righteous cause that tells me I must be controlled by an orientation I did not choose. Unlike the courts of justice, I will embrace Reason; I will allow her, and only her, to squeeze my breast. She will smile for me, and I will give her hands free roam. She will rub herself against my very soul - but only her - only she can caress me. My body will love Reason; that brilliantly systematic touch excites my flesh. Those cold fingers will make my flesh jump; we shall conceive. Only with Reason may two conceive. How wonderful!
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.
Gog shook his head. "You are strange. What are you doing so far from the shadow of your own mountains?" The woman refused to talk. Gog stooped down. He said, "I'll tell you what. I don't care. I'm leaving this land. You're welcome to it." He straightened up. He turned around. He saw the woman's horse grazing by the water's edge. He walked towards it.
Dorothea clenched her jaw. "Well?" she asked. "Do I have an answer?" Her son stared blankly. She continued, "I understand you have feelings for her. I'm not asking you never to see her again. I simply want you to give me your assurance that you won't marry her."
"Praise to the Holy Bhag," said Gog. "My son and I shall soon be buried with our forefathers." The champion of the west took the sword of the son of Gog. He prepared to face his great uncle in single combat. Gog took up his sword and the sword of his consort.
When the dust settled, the men gathered their courage. They found three rocks unlike any they had ever seen. Hauling them onto boats, they took them down the river to the Black Sea. They presented them to Gog, the lord of the hosts of the Matiani.
Luka took a moment to think. It was difficult with the opium. He drove further down the Reine. He took a left. He reached an intersecting road. He took the right. He stopped. He realized he was too far south. He backed up. He took the left. He passed a suspiciously familiar-looking avenue. He kept going. He reached the end. The road was one way. He had to go north. He thought he saw tennis courts. He reached the end. The road was one way. He had to go right. He reached a lake. Again he almost drove into it. "Damn it," he cried. "There must be a way out."
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 and KOKOMO enter.)
ALICE: Thank you so much. I feel like a new woman.
KOKOMO: Don't mention it.
ALICE: Where did you learn to massage like that?
FLETCHER: It's natural. She's Polynesian. She loves flesh.
KOKOMO: Somebody's tea is getting cold. I'd better clean it up before Ms. Jackson reminds me.
ALICE: I think Ms. Jackson made it.
KOKOMO: For whom?
ALICE: For herself and for Homo.
KOKOMO: Where did they go?
– ACT I, lines 798-806
MS. JACKSON: Fletcher!
FLETCHER: That's right. You were a Jackson to begin with. Then you became a Christian. Now you're a Jackson again. My mistake.
ALICE: What was his old name?
FLETCHER: Alexander Smith.
LESBIAN: It's a good thing he changed it. There are plenty of Smiths.
FLETCHER: And not enough Christians.
LUKE: It must be tough havin' an island full of your rellies: bunch of stickybeaks.
LESBIAN: I suppose it came as a great relief when they named a New Zealander their prime suspect.
MS. JACKSON: It ended a frightening period for all of us. Everybody had been suspicious of everybody else.
FLETCHER: Some of us were firm believers that it had to be an outsider.
– ACT I, lines 102-111
FLETCHER: Bigger than your husband.
LESBIAN: Or so I'm told. I didn't actually see them. What I saw was smaller: about six or seven feet. They had these big beaks and enormous eyes made from concentric circles: each circle colored differently from the next. They looked like crazed chickens dancing around like that. Of course, with masks so big, the focus turns to a dancer's legs, the swaying of his hips-
MS. JACKSON: And everything in between.
ALICE: Ms. Jackson!
LESBIAN: His arms are busy holding up the mask.
MS. JACKSON: I'm not surprised: making women do the work.
LESBIAN: I wonder if any Polynesians use a big mask. Would your cook know?
MS. JACKSON: Probably not. Where is my cook? Does she know the kitchen still needs cleaning?
FLETCHER: Why are you looking at me?
– ACT I, lines 424-432
GREY GOOSE: Are you saying you didn't squeal to the Aussies?
MS. JACKSON: I'm saying I didn't have to.
GREY GOOSE: Swear to me that you said nothing.
MS. JACKSON: I won't.
GREY GOOSE: Swear to it.
MS. JACKSON: No.
GREY GOOSE: Swear on the Holy Book.
MS. JACKSON: There will be no such swearing in my house.
GREY GOOSE: My house, woman! My house!
MS. JACKSON: Not anymore, you mangy, little womanizing can't-keep-his-hands-off-my-cook's-bottom descendent of a drunken, wife-beating man-whore!
– ACT I, lines 271-280
AT RISE: KOKOMO is wiping up the floor.
KOKOMO: Clean. Clean. Clean. We are obsessed by cleaning. If space is a giant vacuum, why does all the dust settle here: underneath the table? Why not in the middle of the floor? Where I can see it? Where I can wipe it up with my feet? We know perfectly well why, don't we, Kokomo? Master Fletcher can't be bothered to take off his shoes. Thanks to him, it's: 'wipe the floor, Kokomo.' Yes, Ms. Jackson. 'Clean the kitchen, girl.' Yes, Ms. Jackson. 'When is lunch, dear?' I don't know, Ms. Jackson. Honestly, where does all this dust come from? What am I supposed to do with it? There really is no sense in cleaning more than once a month. Let the moon show when it's time to clean. Ms. Jackson certainly doesn't know. She would have me clean my way right into an early grave. Kokomo was not built for dust. She was built for love.
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
"Barbara replied, 'Two make darkness. Three lighten all the world.' It was her way of introducing him to her belief in the Holy Trinity. Her father became enraged. He took her to the local magistrate. For the sake of her pagan soul, he had her tortured. After much suffering, her own father beheaded her."
"That's awful," said Indiana. "What does it have to do with cherry branches?"
Orbitz Número Dos turned to Orbitz Number One. He ignored the look of confusion in his eyes. "I'm the reason I'm under surveillance," he said. "I've become a Wiki-en, haven't I?" He turned to Orbitz Nombre Trois. Orbitz Nombre Trois didn't react. "Have I fallen in love with the girl?" asked Orbitz Número Dos.
The bank on the corner of Lima and Rebelo streets was a big bank. It had a glass tower reaching up into the heavens like every other building in the area. It was an old bank. Its first two floors were refreshingly free of the massive luxury watch billboards and perfume ads that littered the eye in every direction. The walls were made of stone. Walking further I realized it was just a facade. But the wall that ran perpendicular to Lima and Rebelo streets had a gallery on the second floor. It was the one old thing of substance I could see. The one part of the old building you could actually stand on. For a second I imagined myself in 19th century China as if I were a young Rebelo in love with a young Lima whose father owned the bank and whom I was dangerously wooing from the street with a bouquet of flowers. The world was beautiful and full of hope. Until the garbage truck honked for me to get out of the way.
To promote democracy, the strong must empty themselves of their strength. The weak must be granted the opportunity to grow strong. We cannot force the end of patriarchy. To do so simply perpetuates feudalism under a different name.
Help keep the "Love Languages" page up and running...
If you love women and art...
Michal is importing art from Poland...is he meshuga?
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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