Divine: Invasions: A Life Of Philip K. Dick

As the electrodes touched his temples, the walls of the clinic began to peel away like cheap wallpaper. Behind the floral patterns of the 1950s were the cold, black metallic hulls of a starship orbiting Sirius.

"Mr. Dick? The technician will see you now," a woman said. She had three eyes, but only the middle one looked at him with any sympathy. Divine Invasions: A Life of Philip K. Dick

"We aren't extracting a memory, Phil," she whispered, leaning over the counter. "We’re installing the one you lost in 1974. The pink light? The beam of pure information? It’s been sitting in our ‘Lost and Found’ for three centuries." As the electrodes touched his temples, the walls

Suddenly, a flash of pink light—vivid, aggressive, and undeniably holy—slammed into his retinas. He saw the Roman Empire, still hidden beneath the skin of modern America. He saw the black iron prison that held all of humanity. And then, he saw a small, orange cat sitting on a kitchen table, batting at a typewriter ribbon. Phil blinked. The light faded. "We aren't extracting a memory, Phil," she whispered,

The neon sign above the "Memories ‘R’ Us" clinic flickered in a rhythm Philip K. Dick recognized as Morse code for a language that didn't exist yet. He sat in the waiting room, clutching a tattered copy of a book titled Divine Invasions .