Michal makes movies for women... Did he get permission?
Posted:
Feminism is a name for a philosophy that is centered around the needs of women. I call myself a feminist inasmuch as I try to listen to those needs and to treat them as if they were my own. It doesn't mean that I always meet those needs. That isn't a task for one man nor is it something that we as a society can necessarily do. But we can learn to be honest listeners.
I'm learning how to listen to women - even if sometimes they say terrible things. I'd like to give everyone a chance to do the same.
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 continue the fight for openness and equality, a fight that I'm taking to the world wide web.
Your support ensures that films for women will make a difference.
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Janina: An Oral History of the Twentieth Century in Southern Poland
Chapter 6: Captive
Janina tells the story of her father's captivity during the first World War and the kindness he showed a Russian countess during the Bolshevik Revolution.
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...
My plane touched down in Poland on June 20th. A month later I was in Austria. Two days later, Slovenia. The next day, Croatia. A week later, Italy. The next day, Switzerland. The next day, France. The next day, Germany. The next day, Belgium. The next day, Holland. All with a woman I had met my first weekend on the Continent.
Call it an accident. Call it divine will. I was never supposed to meet Margo...if not for one man's random criminal act...another abuse piled upon humanity by a fellow human. A robbery. A purse-snatching of a purse that happened to contain a passport. An assault on the human body. One of society's bad habits that I had come to fight as an artist working for body acceptance.
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.
Each man grows up with his own kind of poverty. Even if he's got a warm house and plenty of food and a soft bed and plenty of entertainment, there's always something that a man needs. Sometimes he just needs to be listened to, if only by the birds and the trees, but preferably by another man, even if he's an artist from America who isn't very good at listening. By learning how to listen, we learn how to cooperate. By cooperating, we build a better world. In a better world, there are no devils to abuse us. A better world doesn't lend itself to abuse because a better world is populated by people who have learned how to listen.
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 Saying
Each successive pillar of culture is built upon the previous one. Just as you cannot have Saturday without Friday, you cannot have a strong military without successful children. You can't have successful children without good science. Proper science requires a strong and confident body politic to accept its conclusions. A strong body politic, a peaceful assembly, is made up of strong families. A family is built upon labor. Labor is guided by art.
Good art is a good idea well expressed. A victory over oblivion. Carry that thought down the line. Efficient labor sows the fruit of capitalism. The members of a loving family pray to each other. A just constitution keeps the assembly focused. Science studies movement. Education inspires children. Children grow strong and defend our freedom. Democracy thrives.
Our problem is not that we lack a strong army or smart teachers or scientists or political dialogue or money or prayer. Our probem is that nothing ties it together. Our culture is unraveling. We have business executives who only care about the bottom line. We have church leaders who only care about the good name of the church. We have politicians who only care about getting re-elected. We have artists who only care about their self-expression.
Our pillars of culture have climbed quite high. Yet there's nothing but hot air at the top. There's no roof over our heads. We're exposed. Either nobody taught the people at the top to listen to each other or the only way to get to the top is by not listening. Don't say nobody taught us how. Whenever people try we crucify them. That has to change. We need to accept the fact that we are building this church of Man together and it needs a roof.
We need to bridge the pillars of culture.
Pronunciation of Love Saying
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the words "love saying."
Video of me pronouncing "love saying."
Definition of Love Saying
I have yet to publish the definition of Love Saying.
I'm sure it won't take too long.
References for love saying
I have yet to find good references for Love Saying
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 #132
jayce - the guns are underneath the clothes. you need to dig deeper. i would think you would know that. considering your tastes.
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.
Blaming America was difficult. For the simple-minded, it was easy, but most people were conflicted. America was a beautiful country; it had suffered much, but who hadn't? Besides, Americans were in space, in stations orbiting around the Earth; America was on the moon, racing China for the best pieces of real estate. Even though half their country was gone, they were still on top! They were in orbit around the Earth! American soil filled the stratosphere, casting its shadow across the globe: and they were above it! They couldn't care less. To them, the damage was done. Yellowstone exploded - thank you very much, now go and help yourself.
Oh, you are so confused. I love you, child. I carried you in my arms across the deserts of Mars. I love you so very much, but you don't know me! You don't remember me! How can you love me? Listen to your mother, my child. She is dead, but if you listen to her beautiful words - if you pay attention - you will come to know me, child. You will love me. Deep in my heart, I know you will trust me - just like your mother.
Ten years before I was born, the first treaty designed to limit the amount of pollutants in the air was signed by the great powers. That year, negotiations began for the next treaty. The major problem was making the burden equitable, not an easy thing to do, considering how different each nation's economy was. After almost seven years of negotiations, an agreement was signed. However, it was never ratified by the U.S. Senate, owing to renewed tensions. Nevertheless, the great powers voluntarily observed the various limitations imposed by the treaty, and, three years later, the year I was born, negotiations began which, this time, focused on reducing, not just limiting, the amount of dangerous pollutants in the air. These negotiations did not produce a treaty until I was nine years old.
Americans were not almighty; they were not invincible. They were not powerless: they were powerful. They were a fortress: a living fortress. Fortress America! The only people who knew what was going on were the people inside the fortress; everybody outside the fortress was waiting to find out: there was no way to spy from the outside. You had to be in the fortress, and so many people were left out.
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.
The possibility terrified him, which is why he still harbored some hope that he might be only nervous or something, and that his lack of preparedness was only a false image, a distortion of reality, because he, Nike, was completely sure of what he wanted: he wanted the woman.
"You have not been honest," I said, and I proceeded to express my disgust for all that he had done, for all the ways he had let his feelings dictate his action. I said a lot of things, but I did not mention the pettiness he was performing at that very moment - not for his sake, but for my own: as I could not bring myself to mention that name: the name of the person he was now apparently cheating. I told him that I loved him, that I was very sorry, but no matter how much love I had to give, I was not a prize he could ever win: he did not qualify for the competition.
Nike was actually very confused. On the one hand, he was aware that he wanted the woman; on the other hand, he was aware that he didn't want to want the woman. This confused him. Was he obsessing over a woman? Or was he obsessing over the fact that he was looking for a woman? If he stopped looking, what would happen? On the one hand, he would never find her. That would be a terrible failure. On the other hand, if he stopped looking, the search would be over: that, in itself, would be successful. He could go home.
In truth, he was nervous, but for another reason: not that he'd find himself at a loss for words or action, but that he would be unable to find that woman again. There was only a small chance in hell that he would ever see her, but that's why he felt he must return and keep returning to that awful place: that fantastic middle of night, inside the Bois de Boulogne: that gorgeously engorging thruway: that clogged artery, that alleyway of the daisy queen - beautiful, flowery queen - until he found his own.
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 helmet moved. A rider on horseback emerged from behind the rocks. The man was armed. A quiver was on his back. The rest of his weapons were hidden by the barrel of his horse. He approached obliquely. Gog thought he could see a spearhead-perhaps a scabbard.
Gog drew the straight sword of Asvin with one hand; the sickle sword of Mithra with the other. The great sword he left sheathed in his belt.
Clark wondered what made Shephard so eager to get moving. He would have expected him to love wasting time at the hotel. He decided not to jinx it by asking him. On the way to Hotan, the bus driver put on a Turkic movie. Shephard watched. The plot was hard to follow. There was an old man. He was mourning. There were soldiers pushing people around. A young woman danced with what may have been her husband. The husband may have been the old man's son. It seemed the son was killed at some point by soldiers.
The woman threw the sword away. She crouched low. She prepared to defend herself with her bare hands. Gog sheathed his sword. He grappled with the woman. He couldn't stop smiling-even as she bit his jaw. Gog cried out. He tried to laugh his way through the pain. He pulled the woman back by her hair. He whispered, "I like you."
The rider squinted. He put away his bow. He lifted his spear. He kicked his heels into his horse. He hurtled towards Gog. The spear leveled. Gog watched as the horseman's steed threw up a cloud of dirt behind him. They were close. They were right in front of him. Gog lobbed the straight sword into the path of the beast's eye. It saw the metal gleam. Its head jerked. The rider lost balance. Gog twanged the sickle sword against the spearhead. He grabbed a hold of the rider's arm. He pulled him off. He threw him. The rider rolled. His helmet flew. His scabbard dug into his side. He winced. He didn't have time to hurt. Gog was coming towards him. He climbed onto his feet. He drew his sword. Gog balked.
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.
LESBIAN: It's a tiny bug that invades trees and makes them grow abnormal clumps of tissue. It doesn't have to be a tree. I remember my mother's rose-hedge suffering from gall. I had absolutely no idea what it was. I thought it was some kind of strange flower. It started growing these round, fluffy balls of blood-red fiber. I thought it was gorgeous. It has its own name - a beautiful one. It's known as Robin's pincushion.
MS. JACKSON: Oh, Heavens! My pincushion: it's still missing. I'm sorry, Homo. I didn't mean to interrupt.
LESBIAN: It's not a problem.
MS. JACKSON: I don't understand. Who could've taken it?
LESBIAN: Somebody close to you.
MS. JACKSON: Who?
LESBIAN: More importantly, why?
MS. JACKSON: It's only a pincushion.
LESBIAN: I thought it was more than that.
MS. JACKSON: To my family - not to anybody else.
– ACT I, lines 505-514
LESBIAN: A puritan.
ALICE: Straight-laced.
FLETCHER: A prude.
MS. JACKSON: That's exaggerating it a bit, wouldn't you say?
FLETCHER: Nevertheless, I didn't want old man Menzies thinking I was rooting his daughter-in-law. I certainly wasn't going to admit in open court that a pair of seven-year-old boys could shake me down.
ALICE: I was mugged once.
FLETCHER: What happened?
LESBIAN: Were you hurt?
ALICE: Not physically.
MS. JACKSON: You were threatened.
– ACT I, lines 137-146
FLETCHER: I lost my virginity to a married woman. Her husband was abroad - had been for several months. She did plan on joining him, but she loved sex - she admitted it - more than she loved her husband. Then again, I didn't really know the man. Maybe he was the same way. Maybe he was a scoundrel. Some women are just crazy. I was doing work on her balcony at the time. She would undress in front of me through the window. She even let me watch her masturbate. I was around eighteen years old. She was forty. I had no idea what to do. I couldn't do anything, anyway. I was surrounded by my crewmates. When we finished, we packed up and we left. I didn't see her for several weeks. In due course, we bumped into each other at one of the local pubs. She asked me how I was doing. I told her I was fine. I bought her a few drinks. She asked me to take her home. I did. On her front porch, as she was removing her keys from her pocket, she dropped something.
ALICE: A condom.
FLETCHER: How did you know?
ALICE: I guessed.
FLETCHER: Is that something you've done?
ALICE: I've never done it. I assume, if you want to get your point across, that's the most powerful way.
FLETCHER: It's true. I couldn't help myself. I had to go up to her room.
ALICE: Did you like it?
FLETCHER: I loved it - as it was happening. When we were finished, I felt as dirty as a pig. She wanted me to come every Wednesday afternoon like clockwork.
ALICE: Did you?
– ACT I, lines 642-651
LESBIAN: You are married.
MS. JACKSON: According to whom?
LESBIAN: The law and the church.
MS. JACKSON: My husband seldom goes to church and has nothing but contempt for the law.
LESBIAN: What about you, Ms. Jackson? Do you go to church?
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
It was strange for Indiana and Albert to be there. They had their own family in Hungary. They chose to spend the night with us. I assumed they quarreled over which family they ought to visit. We were the compromise.
"Heather Mills," said Orbitz. He kissed Sara Lee one last time. "You have to go," he said. He helped Sara Lee back into her skin suit. Before he put in her breathing apparatus he bowed his head and let her kiss him on the crown. It was a blessing. Orbitz watched the young woman sputter her way to the Nautilus. Of all the adventures they had ever had Orbitz loved these moments at Earth most of all. They had love and peace.
"No, no, no," said Grandmother. "The fourth of December is St. Barbara's Day. Girls who wanted to be married would put the branch in the water as a way of invoking her help. If it bloomed on Christmas Eve, the maiden would be married the following year."
You were probably thinking about it as you lay on the couch. It was after dinner. Albert was in the other room with Father. Indiana and I were on the floor. Mother was on the love seat. Grandmother was in her chair.
Olympia stopped bouncing. She squirmed. She giggled. She drooled. She started bouncing again.
It's natural to hide dirty things. They're embarrassing. But we need to keep in mind that when we hide things that are difficult, we make them seem dirty when they're really something else entirely. And when we keep things that are easy in plain sight, we make them seem clean when they really aren't. That is dangerous.
Help keep the "Love Saying" page...
If you love women and art...
Michal's exporting Polish art...is he loony tunes?
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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