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BETTER MORPHOSIS By Brian Aldiss Look, I’ll put it to you this way, in the hope you’ll understand. Literature’s OK, but what really grabs me is scuttling, right? Like, I mean, scuttling — here and there, anywhere I feel like. Which is to say that directions are better than sentences. Any direction better than any sentence. Scuttle scuttle bliss. Bliss. Me and all my friends had been having this really great scuttle. OK? A megascuttle, all round this apartment building in Prague. A moment’s inattention and what happens? —Jesus, I wake up and find myself transformed. Like lying in a BED, transformed into—Look, I have to tell you. Into this huge pale human thing. Well — shit, into Franz Kafka. KAFKA. (That’s his name. They have NAMES.) Where’s everyone gone? Nowhere. I don’t know. I don’t know, I never had a single thought before. Suddenly I’m Franz Kafka, lying there in that bed and thinking fit to bust. THINKING. Yuk .. . All I’m thinking is just awful. I mean, I’m a fan of oily rags and maybe mildew. A bit of damp in a bad corner and I’m happy. |
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