When he closed his eyes, Oscar could actually feel the sensation, somatically. It was as if his overtight skull had a pair of bladders stuffed inside, liquid and squashy, like a pair of nested yin-yangs. One focus of attention was somehow in "the front" and the other in "the back," and when the one to the front revolved into direct consciousness, the other slipped behind it. And the blobs had little living eyes inside them. Eyes that held the nascent core of other streams of consciousness. Like living icons, awaiting a mental touch to launch into full awareness.