politics of learned perception. An unrippled pool of pure light, existing rather than reflecting.
He bathed in the pool, sensing the infinite tides of the universe, the swelling motion of its direction. He swam there for eons until the restless currents carried his consciousness back to the gritty shores of thought.
He blinked.
He was still lying on the towel on the floor. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and took a long, luxurious breath. He extended his arms and arched his neck back. His muscles felt supple and his mind felt refreshed. The crustations barnacling his brain and body had all been hosed away by the purifying liquids of his journey.
He dressed and began rolling the rest of the contents of the envelope into cigarettes. He was just putting them into his silver case when Joker came in.
"You know, Doe," Joker said, sitting down and folding his arms behind his head, "ever since I first seen you in Central Park yesterday I got the strangest feelin’."
"Really?" Orient folded his arms and leaned back against the wall. He knew that his proximity to a telepathic potential would cause some disturbance but he didn’t quite know he would deal with the question if it came up directly. He wanted to know more about Joker before attempting to teach him the techniques of controlled thought transference. In the wrong hands, or head, it could be a dangerous toy.
"Yeah, really," Joker said, his eyes half closed. "I been around some, Doc, and I got a surefire instinct for people. And," He lifted his head and looked at Orient, "I learned to depend on my instincts. Know what I mean?"
Orient nodded.
Joker dropped his head back on his hands. "What I’m getting’ at, Doc, is that I can’t figure you out just yet. I see a lot of dudes come down here every day tryin’ to find somethin’ or hustle somethin’ or get away from somethin’." He lifted his head again. "But you’re different, you dig?"
"I’m not sure what you’re getting at."
Joker came up to a sitting position, swung his legs over and put his feet on the floor. He ran a hand through his long red hair. "Well, what I mean is that you don’t seem to know what’s happening, but then again you do." He waved his hand impatiently. "No, that’s not what I mean either. Damn, but you’re a confusin’ fella, Doc."
Orient smiled. "Maybe I can help."
Joker leaned back on his elbows and waited.
"I wasn’t exactly a practicing MD but a kind of research specialist," Orient began uncomfortably. He hadn’t planned on going into personal details. "The only hitch was that I was out of touch. My fancy lab equipment and preoccupation with my experiments was preventing me from reaching the people I wanted to help. I was like some kind of robot."
Joker nodded. "I got you covered so far, Doc."
’So I gave it all up and started looking for a way to make contact with the ordinary human race. That’s how I came to get involved in that riot."
Joker’s eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to him. "Say, Doc," he said with elaborate casualness, "how did you come to pull me out of there special?"
Orient hesitated. It wasn’t time to start explaining psychic mechanics. "I went out after my bag," he said, "and I recognized you from the park that afternoon. There didn’t seem to be anything else to do at the time."
Joker stared at him for a moment and Orient could feel that the cowboy still wasn’t convinced. "Well," Joker stood up slowly, "sure was a break for me." He poked Orient in the rib as we walked back to the living room. "And it sure was a break for you."
Orient followed him. "That’s the truth. I had no idea of where I was going or what I would do."
Joker went over to the stereo and switched it on. He slipped a record out of its jacket and placed it on the turntable. An electric guitar began a high, twanging blues line.
"Yeah, I want to talk to you about that too." Joker leaned
He bathed in the pool, sensing the infinite tides of the universe, the swelling motion of its direction. He swam there for eons until the restless currents carried his consciousness back to the gritty shores of thought.
He blinked.
He was still lying on the towel on the floor. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and took a long, luxurious breath. He extended his arms and arched his neck back. His muscles felt supple and his mind felt refreshed. The crustations barnacling his brain and body had all been hosed away by the purifying liquids of his journey.
He dressed and began rolling the rest of the contents of the envelope into cigarettes. He was just putting them into his silver case when Joker came in.
"You know, Doe," Joker said, sitting down and folding his arms behind his head, "ever since I first seen you in Central Park yesterday I got the strangest feelin’."
"Really?" Orient folded his arms and leaned back against the wall. He knew that his proximity to a telepathic potential would cause some disturbance but he didn’t quite know he would deal with the question if it came up directly. He wanted to know more about Joker before attempting to teach him the techniques of controlled thought transference. In the wrong hands, or head, it could be a dangerous toy.
"Yeah, really," Joker said, his eyes half closed. "I been around some, Doc, and I got a surefire instinct for people. And," He lifted his head and looked at Orient, "I learned to depend on my instincts. Know what I mean?"
Orient nodded.
Joker dropped his head back on his hands. "What I’m getting’ at, Doc, is that I can’t figure you out just yet. I see a lot of dudes come down here every day tryin’ to find somethin’ or hustle somethin’ or get away from somethin’." He lifted his head again. "But you’re different, you dig?"
"I’m not sure what you’re getting at."
Joker came up to a sitting position, swung his legs over and put his feet on the floor. He ran a hand through his long red hair. "Well, what I mean is that you don’t seem to know what’s happening, but then again you do." He waved his hand impatiently. "No, that’s not what I mean either. Damn, but you’re a confusin’ fella, Doc."
Orient smiled. "Maybe I can help."
Joker leaned back on his elbows and waited.
"I wasn’t exactly a practicing MD but a kind of research specialist," Orient began uncomfortably. He hadn’t planned on going into personal details. "The only hitch was that I was out of touch. My fancy lab equipment and preoccupation with my experiments was preventing me from reaching the people I wanted to help. I was like some kind of robot."
Joker nodded. "I got you covered so far, Doc."
’So I gave it all up and started looking for a way to make contact with the ordinary human race. That’s how I came to get involved in that riot."
Joker’s eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to him. "Say, Doc," he said with elaborate casualness, "how did you come to pull me out of there special?"
Orient hesitated. It wasn’t time to start explaining psychic mechanics. "I went out after my bag," he said, "and I recognized you from the park that afternoon. There didn’t seem to be anything else to do at the time."
Joker stared at him for a moment and Orient could feel that the cowboy still wasn’t convinced. "Well," Joker stood up slowly, "sure was a break for me." He poked Orient in the rib as we walked back to the living room. "And it sure was a break for you."
Orient followed him. "That’s the truth. I had no idea of where I was going or what I would do."
Joker went over to the stereo and switched it on. He slipped a record out of its jacket and placed it on the turntable. An electric guitar began a high, twanging blues line.
"Yeah, I want to talk to you about that too." Joker leaned
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