Help End Mobbing With Art

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...

By the end of my first week in Europe in 2011, I had bought a car and out of the blue had met the woman who would join me on a 6,000 mile trek across the European continent, sharing the beat-up car that I had bought and the one small tent from Walmart that I had brought along with me on my flight.

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.

Though I was born in Europe, I had been brought up from a young age in America, living in states as diverse as Nebraska, Ohio and Connecticut. I was taught American values and saw reality from an American perspective. She was born and raised in a village in Poland. She went to work in the nearest town. The nearest city seemed like the center of the world. The American perspective was not something she was ever planning to see.

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.

One of Margo's pictures from our trip across Europe. — 6,000 miles across Europe with a complete stranger
**Day 8**
7/27/2011
⛺ 7༛♊²⁵/₂₄♀
Hoteli Baška
Baška, Croatia
THE DISAPPEARING WOMAN, THE DISAPPEARING MAN...
a collection of modern art prints and posters
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.

Previous Image — 6,000 miles across Europe with a complete stranger
**Day 8**
7/27/2011
⛺ 7༛♊²⁵/₂₄♀
Hoteli Baška
Baška, Croatia
THE DISAPPEARING WOMAN, THE DISAPPEARING MAN...
a collection of modern art prints and posters
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.

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.

If you're wondering...

How do I use this?

Just click on a title to see examples of "fiction" from a particular work. You'll stay on the same spot on the page, only the Table of Contents will disappear. To get back to the Table of Contents just click next to the image of the Bare Bottom imprint where it says "Back to Samples of Fiction: Table of Contents."“And...?”

In the case of common words, a Table of Frequency and a Table of Collocation provide numerical information about how many times a word appears in its original or modified form and with which words. It can help to give you an idea of how common words are used and in what contexts. Find them in the "Common Words of English" part of the Education section.“Ok.”

Why a Fiction Corpus?

The popular understanding of the word "fiction" and its complement "non-fiction" is a reflection of the cultural influence of a classification system. The Dewey Decimal System is responsible for separating "fiction" from all other work and categorizing it by author's name. This has influenced the popular idea of fiction as a narrative that tends to be "untrue" and the product of an individual's fantasy, a bias compounded by modern art's century-long obsession with abstraction, surrealism and self-expression.“So...?”

My idea of fiction rests on the idea that art doesn't have to be factual to be a true reflection of our existence. Adam and Eve didn't have to exist as two individuals 700 generations ago for them to be true portraits of two human beings trying to work together.“And...?”

The Bible is a Fiction Corpus. It is a body of writing that isn't overly concerned with facts and yet its words carry weight. It was written by many different authors living in different places with different audiences in mind, yet everyone gleans something from it.“Right...”

In preparing my fiction corpus, I have striven to see the world through the eyes of others. Through the eyes of my Adams and Eves I hope that you too will glean some truth about our existence. At the very least you will learn some more about how one man can use the English language.“Ok.”

Who are you, Michal?

I'm just a guy who makes art. And if you're interested in making a solid investment in an aesthetic that supports our present and future welfare, then I will help you look for something that you can buy.“How...?”

Everybody makes. Everybody sells. Some people know how to protect their interests. Some better than others. Few people know how to listen. Listening to somebody means considering their interests as if they were your own. Going out and doing something to satisfy another person's interest is how we build a strong economy. Without a strong economy, democracy collapses.“And...?”

Buying 4Occupy is buying for democracy. Don't give your money to somebody who's ruining it. There's no such thing as cheap democracy, quick democracy, or easy democracy. There's good, solid, complete democracy and the tyranny of feudalism. Let's not mix the two. Let's not buy everything on the cheap. Let's not create another tyrant and enslave ourselves because it was easier not to think about what we were doing. Let's protect our interests. Let's listen.“Ok.”

Who's really behind this site?

Have you ever been to one of those post-it-yourself retail websites where there's a really attractive top-seller ready to give you tips on how you can be a top-seller too?“Uh...”

Have you ever been to a "job" interview where you sit in a line, walk through one door, get hired as a contractor and walk out another door, so that the other applicants don't realize that everyone's getting "hired" to work in the same market?“Maybe...”

The internet is full of people who are ready to exploit your ignorance. They are people who want to make money at the expense of our economy. They are cheats.“And...?”

I, Michal, am behind this site. Not some fat plutocrat exploiting my image. I like to do things the right way. I like to work with people who take the time to do things right.“Why...?”

I used to work for a company that didn't do things the right way. My labor was exploited because of mismanagement. That company was the United States Postal Service, an independent agency of the United States Government that is ultimately controlled by Congress. I'm mad because if the Federal Government can exploit labor, who is going to stop every other cheat from doing it?“Labor Unions...?”

Don't say labor unions. I went to my labor union and they did nothing. They ignored me because labor unions aren't democracies. Holding a free and fair election for a "representative" once in a blue moon does not equal people ruling. Democracy means open government. It means we the public need to accept the hard work. It's the only way to secure liberty and equality.“Ok.”

What's the difference between use and usage?

Definition-wise, not much. But the -age suffix is ultimately French in origin and with most things French, at least in American eyes, the immediate thought is that of something precious and arcane whose value should be judged very carefully. This is in contrast to the word France, which is associated with a beautiful place. Thus people in France or from France are beautiful, warm, kind people. Generous even. Unlike French people who suck. Unless you're frenching, in which case you're only sometimes sucking.“And...?”

Along those lines, usage means you're in bed. Use means you're just heavy petting. Also notice that common people, like common words, get used...whereas "proper" things make "appearances." Whether or not you are being exploited is a different story. Exploitation is what happens when somebody uses you or your property without listening to you. Listening is what happens when you consider another person's needs as if they were your own. You don't have to satisfy those needs. All you need to do is consider them. So many of us can't even do that.“So...?”

Help stop exploitation. Buy 4occupy. Buy a better world. Whether or not you feel you can afford to buy art, consider joining my protest. I want to guarantee every working man and every working mother on this planet a 15-day universal holiday. But I can't. Only we can do that. We have to work together. We have to accept the idea that everyone deserves time for himself and we need to build that time into a new kind of calendar. We have to give peace it's own day. We have to make love something you can't avoid. We have to make even the most miserly cold-hearted capitalist among us say that he cashed his check on Love Your Neighbor Day. There won't be any other way to say it once the Acceptance Calendar is widely adopted.“Ok.”

Back to Samples of Fiction: Table of Contents

Samples of Fiction from Death to McDonalds

An aerial view of Dodger Stadium in the foreground, with an imaginary partially submerged Los Angeles behind — 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 #42

hey - are you getting this people. sorry it took me so long. i was distracted by a phone call.

Sprint "Iphone" Case

26 July, 11:38 AM

Frame #83

this character limit takes a little getting used to. especially when youre inputting with your voice.

Sprint "Iphone" Case

26 July, 1:20 PM

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Samples of Fiction from The Gospel of Jesus H.

A picture of the planet Mars — 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.

You don't understand - but you will understand, my child. Your father is far away, but he is close. He is with your mother in space. They are far away. They orbit the sun around Pluto. Their bodies are machines that never break. Their bodies are machines! Their heads have been transplanted! But their thoughts are with you: they are with you. They love you. God loves you. Zeus does not. He is terrible. Do not trust him. He took your mother's head. He destroyed your father's body! AAAAAAHHHH!!! Sometimes my mind spits bile: pure vomit. It feels like

– Verse 8 from the chapter called Invocation

Bottled air was in great demand. Your grandfather's ancestors were in the business of bottling air. "Panzer-Tank Air" it was called. People said it was very good air, or at least, air in very good bottles.

– Verse 3 from the chapter called Childhood

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Samples of Fiction from Sex for Children

A drawing of a man between a woman's legs in front of another man in a hospital bed — 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.

Maybe that's why the orderlies walk around here with such pained expressions. You'd think they'd be happy to watch rich men die. But I am being grossly unfair: it's probably just Monday morning - but I can't help noticing such things from my current situation; sitting next to Albert's deathbed, it does seem to be a rather expensive way of dying. I would much rather prefer to die in my own bed, in my own house, surrounded by my own children. Although I must admit, this is a rather nice room. However, I don't think Indiana likes coming here. I'm not sure whether it's because of Albert's condition or because of the surroundings, but she was very grateful when I said I could take the bulk of the vigil.

– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 3, Wondering, Paragraph 1, Clauses 6-13

How often does one see the complete horizon? How can one take measure of its magnitude? If the horizon were to fall, or spin around, jump up and leave us, what would a human see? Would we see its true dimensions? Would we not be overwhelmed? Would it not be aweful? If you consider this, my sister, you will begin to understand how I feel.

– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 4, Self-image, Paragraph 4

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Samples of Fiction from Tsiga Tsiga Tsiga

Bullets whizzing by a statue of Nikola Tesla — 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.

All the best river crossings at Pescara were blocked. Though it was a stormy day, Sforza directed his men to ford the very mouth. To prove to them that there was no danger, he rode out to the middle and waited.

– from “Italy Sucks and Has Sucked For A Long Time,” an adventure story about a manly young man

"When occasion calls," said the first, "for her Ladyship to quit her chamber. If you don't mind, we require your assistance."

"The two of us can't manage on our own," said the other.

"With your help," said the first, "we can do it."

– from “Italy Sucks and Has Sucked For A Long Time,” an adventure story featuring adultery and anal sex

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Samples of Fiction from Sorry Ms. Jackson

Chiseled letters from an ancient stone tablet hanging on a wall — 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: I couldn't agree more.

ALICE: Luke was a real ladies' man before he met me. I practically had to jump into bed with him just to get kissed.

KOKOMO: That sounds awful.

ALICE: I got tired of waiting for him to make a move.

KOKOMO: In the end it did pay off.

ALICE: Sometimes you have to make things crystal clear.

KOKOMO: If only it were that simple.

ALICE: It is. Haven't you ever told Fletch how you feel?

KOKOMO: I like to pretend that I have - but I haven't.

ALICE: Do it. There's no sense in waiting. If you wait too long, you might not be around to say anything. That reminds me: Luke and I are leaving tonight. That letter he got from his manager was definitely bad news for me.

– ACT I, lines 1369-1378

(LESBIAN enters, followed by ALICE and LUKE. KOKOMO exits.)

LESBIAN: What a day! My skin has never felt so tight.

FLETCHER: How has our island paradise been treating you, Lesbian?

LESBIAN: Not bad, Fletcher. I'm covered with salt.

FLETCHER: You happened to go naawe this morning.

LESBIAN: We went naawe this morning, as you like to call it, in Emily Bay.

ALICE: The water was lovely.

LUKE: The beach was bodgy.

ALICE: I think my husband got stung.

LUKE: In the blot.

– ACT I, lines 46-54

FLETCHER: Oh, marriage! Where would man be without thy warm bondage? Those who fear the rope will never know the pleasure of being tied up: of pushing with all one's might only to stand still. It is a perverse joy, indeed, to take the plunge through the trapdoor: to hear one's soul snapping in two, pushing one's heart into one's throat: to say the words, 'I do.' To wed and then to bed - how old-fashioned an order! One cannot help but desire permanence in such an ever-changing world. To oppose it, lashed to a rock, feeling its weight crush one's spirit, may be a Promethean punishment best reserved for the noble. It is no wonder that only the force of custom and law kept so many together for so long. Matrimony is not for the faint of heart. So watch out, you concubines and concubinaries - you cohabitants and live-in friends: both cataracts and calm pools await you, but no peace at that river's end: just the wide, gaping maw of dissoluteness and abandon: the ocean of human desire, with nothing to do but sink. So swim home, like salmon, and enjoy rest: the comfort you get from being tied up. My prayers were answered: I am a man again - and soon to be more: a husband. Wish me luck, for the night is still young, and many acts of husbandry await me.

– ACT II, line 550

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

FLETCHER: Trouble. The Tahitians were already upset. They hadn't been given any land when the island was divided, not to mention the fact that some of them were being beaten. Naturally, they started plotting. What they didn't take into account was the fact that To-ofa-iti, the blacksmith's new wife, was not complaining. The blacksmith was important. That made her important. She started singing a song, the words of which went, "Why does black man sharpen axe? To kill white man." When Fletcher Christian heard that song, he grabbed his musket, ran to the Tahitians, charged them with their crime, and pulled the trigger. The gun misfired. Two of the men ran; the rest protested their innocence. They begged for a chance to take care of it. They decided they should try to poison To-ofa-iti's husband. He didn't fall for it. He was too smart. Ultimately, one of the Tahitian men pulled a pistol on him in the presence of his wife. Again, the gun misfired. The two of them started grappling on the ground. Who knows who would've won? To-ofa-iti, however, was not about to take chances. She picked up the pistol with her own two hands and bopped her husband squarely on the head.

ALICE: She killed him?

FLETCHER: Eventually. Things were deceptively quiet for a few weeks. It didn't take long for judgment to fall upon the poor blacksmith. The Tahitians shot him down like a pig. Ironically, that's what the other mutineers thought they were doing. Being scattered all over the island, each man heard the shots and naturally assumed that somebody was hunting. Most of them found out too late that they were the prey.

ALICE: How many of them were killed?

FLETCHER: On that day, now known as Massacre Day, five of the original nine mutineers were fatally shot. Fletcher Christian was next. He was standing in his garden. Both of his hands were on his spade. He looked up at the sky and smiled. He never saw it coming. They shot him right through the heart.

ALICE: How did the others survive?

FLETCHER: Jackson was shot through the neck but he lived.

ALICE: Incredible.

FLETCHER: It's a miracle. Ned Young slept through the whole thing. The women didn't want to wake him. They all liked him and they didn't want to see him get hurt, so they stood around his hut and guarded him. Eventually, though, even he had to get his hands dirty. The women wanted revenge on the Tahitians for killing their husbands. After Ned's consort chopped off the ringleader's head with an axe, he was made to go and shoot the last remaining rebel. That was the end of the bloodshed - not counting when he and Jackson got Quintal drunk and murdered him.

ALICE: It's so barbaric.

– ACT I, lines 616-625

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Samples of Fiction from Miscellaneous Dingbats

The title of the book at the end of a string of miscellaneous dingbats — A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.

At some tender age Steve O had happened upon a backstage drama on TV. This was followed by a backstage musical. Then a backstage comedy. In each instance there was a character of an actor played by an attractive actor who despite having duties ostensibly onstage was preoccupied to the almost complete exclusion of everything else with an actress played by an attractive actress. This was Steve O's cue.

– from “A Finger Up The Bum,” a gay fiction story that nobody should think twice about, but what you make of it is up to you

The Amazon called his team. One half was still following Orbitz on the cruise ship. The other half was in front of the shop. He ordered them into the neon building. They walked up to the second floor. The team leader paused. He could hear something in the room ahead. It sounded like a man rapping his fingers on a desk. He pushed open the door. There was no desk. There was no man. There was clutter everywhere. Strange objects of art and furniture stacked on top of each other loomed from every corner. The rapping continued. It was slower now. It was more cautious. The men squeezed into the room. All of them were transfixed by the sound. It was coming from behind a low curtain. The curtain was draped over what seemed like a crate. Or a cage. The men crowded in front of it. The leader reached out his hand. He grabbed a corner of the curtain. He lifted it.

– from “The Death and Life of Captain Orbitz,” a science fiction romance written out of respect for Stanislaw Lem, if you know who that is