Morty the Bulb:
An Allegory of Illumination
by Jennifer Rose
On the day that Sara Kunkle brought
home that box of light bulbs, she had no idea that she had purchased the brightest
bulb in the box. It was a completely ordinary shopping experience. In addition
to the box of bulbs, Sara had picked up a mother lode of toilet paper and a vat
of sweet baby gherkins. She was a bulk shopper.
Morty, the brightest bulb in the box,
was an incandescent 60W bulb. Because Sara was a bulk shopper, Morty sat in his
box, in a closet, for years, knowing nothing. Because Morty was incandescent,
he sat there so long he came close to being obsolete. One by one Sara took the
other bulbs from the box and put them to use. Finally one night, she took out
Morty.
Sara put up a ladder in the bedroom
of her apartment, climbed up to the second highest step, unscrewed the burnt
out light bulb, and screwed in Morty with six competent turns, Screep, screep screep, screep, screep,
screep.
Sara climbed down the ladder, folded
it up, and put it away neatly in the utility closet by the kitchen. When she
came back to the bedroom, she put her hand on the light switch, and flipped it
to ON.
WOW!
A thrill shot through Morty’s
entire being. And what is that? And what is that? And what is that? Morty saw
the bed, the desk, and the cat.
“This is stupendous!” Morty
thought. “This is amazing!”
“A chair! A dresser! A pillow! A
nightgown!”
“Holy freaking cow!” Morty thought.
“Look at all this stuff, will ya!”
Then Sara flipped the switch to
OFF, and “zzzup,” Morty went dark.
Later that night, when Sara was
getting ready for bed, Morty was ON and fathoming the details of the
bedclothes, their colors and textures, the oceanic blue-green comforter, the
damask throw, white ruffles on the pillowcases, the sateen sheen of the sheets.
Then he noticed Sara Kunkle. She did not hold still. She was like the cat,
Belshazzar, who fussed and flicked and licked.
“Similar, but not the same. Sublime!”
Morty thought. “The rich variety of existence!” And then he was OFF.
Time went by like this. Morty
marveled at the details of his existence whenever he was ON: the lace of Sara’s
nightgown, the grain of the floorboards, the comings and goings of the cat.
The cat was perplexing. How could
it be that one moment Morty’s existence had the element of cat, and the next
moment it did not? Morty found himself wishing the cat could be still, could be
either in or out.
As he thought more about it, for
that matter, Morty wished Sara would not move the objects of existence here and
there. Her fluffings and rufflings of the bedclothes made Morty vaguely
nauseous. It felt as if he himself were being fluffed and ruffled. He felt
cheapened by her disregard for the places things were supposed to be, the
places they had been the first moment he was ON. Obviously the wastebasket
belonged next to the desk and not next to the bed.
“Why doesn’t she care about what is
right? Why doesn’t she think it matters whether my wastebasket is here or
there?” Morty wondered. The wastebasket, like the cat, moved in and out of
Morty’s existence. Sara put bits and scraps into the wastebasket, and the
wastebasket disappeared. When it came back the wastebasket would be empty.
Unsettling.
One day Sara was standing in front
of her mirror brushing her brown hair with the brush that was supposed to be on
the dresser. Morty had noticed the mirror before, but today he focused on a
luminescent orb looking over Sara’s shoulder, and he recognized himself.
“What the what?!” Morty thought. “What
the who, the how, the what?!” Morty thought. “I do not like the looks of that.
I do not like the looks of that at all. God. That small, insignificant,
fragile, glassy… Ew.” He couldn’t turn his attention from his reflection.
Before long, Morty’s thoughts
turned. “That is me! I am the best! I am the brightest! I feel so WOW about
ME!”
That night was the very first time
a light bulb ever experienced mirror self-recognition. Morty was right to feel
proud of himself. It was almost unbelievable.
That was also the night that Morty
noticed the light switch with its ON and OFF.
Now, when he was ON, Morty fixated
on that switch. He noticed certain correlations. He related ON with the
hairbrush, the cat, and the rest of existence. He related OFF with, with, with…
“Oh my God!” Morty thought. “What
the hell is OFF? WHAT THE HELL IS OFF?!?! He noticed that ON was always, at
first, attended by Sara’s proximity to the switch.
The Sara Kunkle suddenly seemed
very different from the cat. Morty hoped he had not offended The Sara Kunkle by
associating her with the cat, who was clearly a buffoon, an ass-licking beggar.
Who did the cat beg to? The Sara Kunkle.
“Why hadn’t I noticed this?”
The Sara Kunkle suddenly seemed so
beautiful, the one thing in the existence that stirred deep yearnings in Morty.
“I’m an idiot,” Morty thought.
“Clearly she is endowed with magical powers beyond all comprehension. Probably
she hates me now. I am loathsome. I am small. What if she decides not to turn the
switch ON?!”
Morty had a lot of intense feelings
about this possibility. When he was ON he spent a lot of time focusing on The Sara
Kunkle, trying to understand her moods and motivations. He wanted to please
her. Desperately.
Morty hummed—the language of
bulbs--prayers to the All Powerful, The Sara Kunkle.
Despite Morty’s love of her,
despite his prayers and devotions, The Sara Kunkle delivered a humiliating, a
devastating blow to Morty, that punished him and filled him with a sense of
profound, powerless humiliation.
She turned another bulb ON.
Morty’s existence was halved in an
instant. He was comingled. Demeaned. By a bedside lamp.
“Fie on thee, Sara Kunkle,” Morty
thought. Then felt guilty and ashamed.
Morty wondered how often this
bedside bulb was ON when he was OFF. His thoughts took an ugly, murderous turn.
He schemed to outwit the bedside bulb and be alone again with The Sara Kunkle.
In his humming, bulb language, Morty
asked the bedside bulb his name, as if to befriend him.
“James,” the bedside bulb replied.
Then, unimaginably, things got
exponentially worse.
The bathroom bulb overheard Morty
and James, and butted in incomprehensibly.
“What the what?!” Morty thought. “Where
did that come from? I was just getting used to this bedside bulb, and now… then
Morty went OFF.”
The next time Morty was ON, James
was OFF. Morty began to observe this state called OFF, and he did not like it
at all. It was not for him: dark, passive, nothing…. Meaningless.
Morty recalled the foreign sounding
voice.
“Is anybody out there?” Morty asked.
He heard the squeaky bzzzzzhhhhreeee that seemed to emanate
from beyond all existence.
“Dude. Are you even a bulb? What’s
the deal with you?” Morty called out.
“Forty watter,” the squeaky voice
said, in a foreign sounding accent.
“Okay. Okay. I get it,” Morty said.
“What’s it like in there?” the
bathroom bulb asked.
“What do you mean “there?” Morty
wanted to know.
“Well, Mate, I am here, and you
therefore are ‘there.’
Morty was sorry he had engaged with
this idiot, self-centered bulb.
Still, he slowly, laboriously began
explaining existence, the only obvious thing, to the idiot foreigner. “Well,
the most important thing is obviously the bed, and it must have ruffles,
mustn’t it? Ruffles are very meaningful. Then, of course there has to be a
desk. Does your desk have a drawer? Well, it must, mustn’t it? Because desks
do.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking
about. You seem very strange. I do not think I like you,” the bathroom bulb
said.
“Well, I know I don’t like you,”
Morty said. “Aren’t you in the room? Why are you so stupid?” Morty asked.
“No, you presumptuous turd,” the
bathroom bulb squeaked, “I am in A room, not THE room. Jesus Christ.”
“My name’s Morty,” Morty said.
“I’m Tad.”
OFF.
They didn’t get off to the greatest
start.
But they didn’t give up. Isn’t that
grand? James and Morty bonded first, forming an alliance against Tad. At times
when they were all ON Morty and James slammed Tad with fact after fact that
proved he did not exist.
“The biggest thing is the BED.
Floors are made of WOOD. There is very little WATER, and it is in a drinking
glass. Idiot.”
Eventually they learned more from
Tad about the room called Bath, and it started to sink in that existence might
be multi-roomed. For all they knew there could be still other rooms as foreign
and strange as the tiled and porcelain room called Bath.
Later, as friends, they imagined
strange rooms where water flowed over beds, and cats made flushing sounds.
“What if…”
After pounding out their
differences, they discovered they also shared similarities. They all worshipped
The Sara Kunkle, and they all associated her with ON. Whenever ON happened, The
Sara Kunkle was near.
“But what about OFF?” Morty asked
the other bulbs one day. “Isn’t The Sara Kunkle always there when ON ends, too?
What the hell is OFF?”
When the bulbs realized The Sara Kunkle
had the power of OFF as well as the power of ON, they began to fear and despise
her--and love and adore and appease her--in turns.
It depressed Morty to ponder The Sara
Kunkle’s dark powers. “It seems so random. ON. OFF. ON. OFF. What is it that
moves her?”
Morty lamented to the other bulbs
one day, “Why should I adore The Sara Kunkle when she is so cruel? Who would dream
up such horrors? She has the ultimate power. Why doesn’t she use them for good?
Why doesn’t she just leave me ON? What does she do when I am OFF? WHERE DOES
THE CAT GO? To where? What is the point?”
It got worse.
Up to now, Morty had only been ON
at night. The night The Sara Kunkle fell asleep reading War and Peace, Morty saw the sun rise.
“I am blinded!”
Morty tortured himself with thoughts
of the great bulb that sometimes shined in through the bedroom window, that
light by which his own shine seemed completely snuffed out, irrelevant.
ON.
“Why me? What is out there? Who am
I? What good is this life? What is the terror in that condition called OFF? Why
doesn’t anyone care?”
OFF.
ON. “This is killing me. Why does The
Sara Kunkle torture me? What is the point? Where is the cat? Why doesn’t
someone smooth the duvet? OFF.
ON. “That light. Aaack. It blinds
me.” OFF.
It got worse.
Morty happened to be ON the night
that James burned out. James had just been complaining of strange vibrations in
his glow chamber. Suddenly he was OFF.
Morty watched The Sara Kunkle flip
James’s switch. ON OFF ON OFF… nothing happened.
Morty thought The Sara Kunkle was
going to help James when she reached over the top of the lampshade, and screep, screep, screep, screep, screep, screep.
On the contrary, James was unwound. By The Sara Kunkle.
Even worse, James was revealed.
Morty saw James’s screw cap. Morty did not know that bulbs had screw caps. He
thought he was pretty and glassy and round. What was this shameful, metallic
stump? Hideous.
It got worse.
Screep, screep, screep, screep, screep, screep.
The Sara Kunkle wound in a new bulb that gave off a strange, unsettling light.
Then, worse than worst, The Sara Kunkle
put James in the place where there are empty, gooey tubes, sticky bits of
plastic, and used wads of tissue with boogers on them. The Sara Kunkle put
James with boogers. With boogers! The Sara Kunkle put James in the place that
comes back empty.
“Noooooooo.” OFF.
ON. Morty was completely absorbed
in his fear of being tossed out with the boogers. OFF.
ON. OFF. ON. OFF. ON. OFF.
Morty withdrew completely from the
events of the room. The cat came and went. The Sara Kunkle read or did not. The
great light beyond the window was there, or it was not. Morty did not care.
ON. OFF. ON. OFF. ON. OFF.
Months went by.
The dzzzt that preceded ON had once been Morty’s favorite feeling. Now
it aroused only loathing.
“Turn me OFF! Just turn me OFF.”
All he knew was dzzzt and regret. He
did not wish to be reminded of his filaments. He obsessed that being ON was
shortening his life, though he had no taste for living.
He loathed the dzzzt, as he now understood that he was feeling it in his screw
cap, his stump of shame. It reminded him that like James, he was inglorious,
finite.
Hating the dzzzt drew more and more of Morty’s attention until--secretly--Morty’s
metallic core of embarrassment started to deliver a whisper of thrill.
With more attention, the dzzzt, the thrill, became more certain. With
a lot of focused attention, Morty learned to feel the thrill rise up his
metallic stump and into his central glow chamber. And he came to look forward
to ON again, not to the objects of existence, but to his experience.
“I do not care about the cat.”
One day, Morty felt the river of
current at his base so clear and so sure, that he let himself get carried away.
“What is this? I am riding along!”
Morty felt gleeful as he slipped above the ceiling, riding the wire like a kid
on a log ride.
Morty rushed to the bathroom, in
and through Tad, and out again. In the living room he flowed through two
strange bulbs, like the new one in the bedside lamp.
“Was I never a bulb?”
Morty saw the cat curled up on the
couch.
“So that is where it goes.”
Morty saw The Sara Kunkle sitting next
to the cat.
“She sits here when I am OFF.”
In the kitchen, Morty flowed
through the toaster before he left the apartment, explored the building, and
soared into endless new possibilities. He flowed through porch lights, streetlights,
and stadium lights.
“There is nothing but wonder!”
When he had enough, Morty flowed
back home to the bulb in Sara’s bedroom, and waited for ON.
ON. “I’m back everybody! I’m here!
I’m home!”
Morty saw the cat. “A delightful
creature. A pleasure. A gem. The finest of the fine. The utmost pussy cat.”
Morty saw Sara. “A wonderful woman.
A pleasure, a peach. Nowhere can a better girl be found. I know. For I have
seen them all.” He hadn’t of course.
Morty saw the bed, and the desk,
and the chair, and the floor. He appreciated them all. And when Sara turned on
the bedside lamp, with its strange, new, exotic bulb, Morty introduced himself.
“My name’s Morty, and I know my
light seems a little strange. Over the years, I have become old-fashioned.”
One day, Morty told the bedside
bulb about old James. And when Morty felt his filaments vibrate strangely, when
Morty knew he was getting old, he told the story of his fantastic ride. He did
not want his new friend to be frightened if Sara put Morty in the bin with the
boogers.
On the day that Morty sensed the end
of his ON, in the moment that he saw Sara reach out her hand for the switch for
the very last time, Morty focused with all his might on his dzzzt and whispered courage to himself:
“Morty, Old Bulb, this is only the
beginning.”
OFF.
copyright Jennifer Rose, May, 2014
1 comment:
Morty is my hero and my muse!
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