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Updated: May 24, 2025
And the result was that he was amused for awhile, but was mostly fat and tired and sometimes drunk and often disoriented, but still not happy. "Perhaps your majesty would be happy if he ruled the surrounding lands and felt secure from attack," suggested the head of his army.
It all missed the mark as far as she was concerned. She contemplated the fate of the homeless Filipino: wasn't she quite the hypocrite to say that the world was wretched to not offer him assistance that would pull him from the streets and away from feeling disoriented and hearing voices in his own head when she didn't care to bring him into her apartment.
They left and the waitress cleared their places, sweeping a tip into her pocket. She turned toward Will. "More coffee?" He pushed his mug forward. "Thanks." He could see the box now. It was solid. It had a quiet glow. "Long night?" "Yes." It hurt to think about it. He was still disoriented. The diner had appeared in the night like a miracle.
He knew too exactly how she felt. "Tell me," he said, "what it was that you wanted to talk to me about." She acknowledged that she'd been hoping he'd forgotten that, of the momentousness of his two items of news had left her, as her talk about kaleidoscopes indicated, rather disoriented.
To them he was a homeless eyesore, a madman even if he looked benign from a distance. After all, seated alone in a fetal position as he was on a declivity of a hill sparse of grass, to them, he believed, this proclivity for disoriented stares into the wind-grazed dirt and inanimate purposelessness was an egregious aberration of being human.
"Maybe it's been me all along," I thought. "That's nonsense," I countered. "It's Atmananda who is... " I grimaced. I walked up the incline toward the exit. I left the theatre in a stupor. I felt dizzy and disoriented. My mind again drew a blank. I crossed the street to UCSD. I walked to Revelle College. To the Humanities Library Building. To HL 1402.
There'd been no reference of up and down, other than the rim itself as an oddly curved floor. Now he felt disoriented. The wheel was spinning, the hub, therefore, seemed "up." And from the edge of the rim where he clung to its hairnet, all directions were down.
It was merely a stranger seen acting out his peculiar extemporaneous role from at a distance. Within a nebulous understanding of where he was at and what he was doing and the abnormality of it all, the catatonic was able to recognize the fact that this perennial squatting would seem to others as though he were a homeless and disoriented beggar trying to defecate along the road.
They begin to react to physical stimuli and to answer questions, although still inhibited, until consciousness is quite clear. When speech begins, it is found that they are usually disoriented for place and time as the result of an amnesia which sets in sharply with the excitement. This memory defect gradually improves pari passu with the other symptoms.
He entered the dark and ornate lobby of Pilgrim's Atlantic. Money was taken seriously here. He looked for the elevator. "Topside," Tom had said. When the elevator doors opened at the top floor, Oliver was disoriented by the orange carpet, the color-coordinated flowery wallpaper, and the sunny windows. A well-built maternal receptionist smiled from behind an antique table. Where was he?
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