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In retrospect, I think I derived the ambience of the city of memory from the book I quoted in this post, though the specific idea is not part of the work. What I'm looking for now is a bag big enough to hold two books, two small bottles of water, and a small lunch but that would still 'read' to a security person as 'purse' not 'messenger bag' or 'backpack.' Ideally it would have a lot of interior pockets for organization (one of the other weaknesses of my current one.) I'm willing to make an investment (policemen's boots and all that) but am entirely uninterested in 'brands.' I own several Tom Binh backpacks/luggage items and have considered getting one of their smaller bags as a purse, but I was wondering if anyone knew of a more conventionally styled bag-maker who actually produced items that are functional and LAST. I really liked Invisible Cities, though I could never finish If On A Winter's Night A Traveller, which my lit geek friends assure me is the worthier effort.This wins the Internet today: writes: ACT I SCENE 2. Enter a carriage, with JULES and VINCENT, murderers. In the category of "Shakesperian pastiche", I submit for your approval... Some time ago, I tried to rewrite Sonnet 116 ("Let me not the marriage of true minds/Admit impediments...") in C pseudocode, but it turned out sort of boring and lame instead of funny and geeky. (Though I *am* toying with a vague idea for a modern Canterbury Tale.) Non Sequitur Joe ducked low, zigzagged through the alley, darted into the street, ignored the honks of angry drivers and made it to the sidewalk, vaulted over a wall, dodged an angry Rottweiler to climb a chain link fence, climbed into a window, sidled into the kitchen and grabbed a cookie from the cookie jar, snuck out the back door ran down the side yard, dashed into the woods, strolled down the path , followed the gravel road past the old abandoned farmhouse, and was almost home, when he clumsily tripped over a clause, smacked his head painfully on a comma, suffered traumatic amnesia, and forgot the subject of this sentence.Eventually, full of memories not your own, you perhaps forget yourself a little, or worse, remember yourself only as your darkest deeds: all you have left.You are desperate to get rid of them; you try to palm them off on passersby. You sell off the time you screamed at your mother before you left Venice and never returned, you sell off the time you broke your leg, you sell off memories of your black night-thoughts, the ones that prey when you cannot sleep.They close by a variety of means, zippers and snaps and magnets.I prefer zippers, though they eventually wear out, but while they work, they work reliably.
You will never have such problems with a life partner from Ukraine!
* The man with whom you traded looks to you, asks if you might know his name.
You shake your head, realize what he can no more: the word "Euphemia" was his last hoard.
Even though they often have successful careers and interesting hobbies, they are always ready to leave everything behind to become mothers and spouses.
You do not come to Euphemia only to buy and sell, but also because at night, by the fires all around the market, seated on sacks or barrels or stretched out on piles of carpets, at each word that one man says—such as “wolf,” “sister,” “hidden treasure, “battle,” “scabies,” “lovers“—the others tell, each one, his tale of wolves, sisters, treasures, scabies, lovers, battles. Does anyone know of any good 'deep value' handbag makers?
One, taking pity on you, turns you toward a shadowed alleyway where customers and sellers whisper and look over their shoulders as they complete transactions, blackmails of the mind. Someone is always willing to buy, and you leave with memories of quenching strange urges that you are sure you never had, of murder and of making your five-year-old daughter cry. * "Rich" is one of the words you traded early, and because you are a shrewd businessman and canny, you got two memories for your one, both from a native of the town: The richest man in Euphemia is a messenger who runs the most important memories between the high houses and richest merchants' stalls--all the great memories in the city pass through his head, but do not stay there.