...the life electric...

I paused at the end of my street and stared at the unplugged lamp next to the trash can.  It was curvy, red-headed, round-bottomed, and had a shade of rainbow illumination.   

What is it like to be a lamp?  Plugged into an outlet I’m connected to an energy that powers other lamps and lights like myself.  But if you follow my electric flow into the grid I’m also connected to talking and telling objects.  Things like radios, televisions, computers and furbys.  

All of us use that same energy.  All of us are objects that help people see.  

I’m a lamp.  All electricity, bulb, wires and light.  I’m simple.  When I’m on, people can know what’s directly around them.  They can avoid stubbing toes and take deep yearning looks at the grease spilling off their curled pepperoni pretzel twists.  They can see the bed, the bathroom, the backyard and the books.  

The radios, tvs and computers are more complex.  As a lamp I’m filled with ceramics and hollowed table air, but these machines are filled with humans. Humans sharing human things with other humans in human places.  Talky talking people telling their dos, don’ts and doesn’ts.  

There is no one inside of me.

As a lamp I'm an upgraded flame that can’t cook.  My electric brethren, these telly talky furbish things, are magic mirrors.  They are choose your own adventure oracles broadcasting believeable beliefs to believe believing in. As a lamp I got nothing to say beyond, “would you look at that?”.  The electric storymobiles can say whatever is on the mind of the man monkeys making music inside of them.  All you gotta do is turn them on.  

Alone on the street I’m a lamp. I’m unplugged and I’m off. 

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I quit staring at the lamp and moved on.  

I have an on and off relationship with myself.  I like being on.  I like being on the ground, on my feet, and on bikes, seats and boards.  On is easy.  I go on, get on, and move on.  If you think I’m in jest, I’ll sigh and say come on.  When I am close to being right I am on to something.  I could go on and on.

Off is harder.  I like time off and going off-roading.   But I don’t like to feel off, be told off, or being caught off my game.  Off is the tense cousin of on, incredibly gifted but difficult to pin down.  On is the beginning, in that you start on something. Off is the mystery, the off chance you’re off trail, off seeing the unknown, going off in new directions to show off your new skills.  I’m going off on too many tangents.  Off will let you do that.  When I am on a tangent my path is a simple A to B. But when I’m off the directions are unpredictable, like connecting the dots from a toddler’s purple crayon stamped drawing. 

I need to try off more often.  I know what happens when I turn on the light.   But off could offer me something else.  I decided to make a list of off types to better understand what off might be the right off for me.

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CansOffis’s Official Offhanded Officious Offering of Offs

GET OFF

The off of release.  Getting off is to be fully offed.   It is a shuddering weeping off that makes you want to get back on as soon as you are off.  When you get off you got off and you can always get off again.  It’s a good off.

GO OFF

This is the off of movement, the off as journey.  And off you go, unsure of where you are going, going, going gone.  But be careful as this is also the off of explosions, anger and uncontrollability.  You want to ensure you go off somewhere, not on someone.  It is an off better to be part of than to be near to.

TAKE OFF

The off of flight, deductions, parody and/or pending nudity this is an adventurous off.  It is the comedian or satirist’s off as best commemorated by Bob and Doug McKenzie on their album, The Great White North.  Getty Lee, best bass player ever.

SHOW OFF

The show off is the see off.  It needs to be witnessed for its existence.  It’s an exhibitionist at the end of the moonlit swimhole, splashing for a taste of warm whiskey and a night singing shanties to the sailors too shred to seek sleep.

TURN OFF

The off of the end, it loses interest, and tells you to move on.  It says go on to the next part of this blog and be done with this off full section…

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I considered all these offs, and I was struck by their eroticism.  Off is a turn on.  A big sexy curvy O hugged tight to two fabulous friendly F’s.  I was on to off.  All winky whispers and o-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-fing in my direction.  

I stared back at the unplugged lamp next to the trash can.  The street was a silky pissed on asphalt reflecting orange bengal light.  A sultry sewer smoke hissed behind the lamp’s absent glow. 

Could the lamp be telling me something?   

When I was a lamp I had little to say.  But here, next to a week’s worth of recycling and a patch of rat grass, the silent lantern mermaid murmured to me.  This beautiful apple red lamp had lived its life illuminating on the grid.  Here on the sidewalk it now lived a life of pure possibility.  Was it art, trash or just taking a break?  Did it need to be plugged in?  

Turning on a lamp might show me the world as it is.  But if I turned it off, who knows what I might see?  I asked the lamp if it wanted to spend the night with me, cracking my collar and spitting a chewed minty toothpick to the sidewalk.  Time stood still as I waited for a response.

I waited. 

And I waited.

And I waited and waited. 

In the end I am pretty sure the lamp didn’t want to sleep with me.  

I swallowed my pride and left the lamp alone on the street before it might answer me that definitive no.  I walked slowly into my apartment and closed all the blinds.  I undressed and I closed my eyes. And with a clap clap, I turned off all the lights. 

It was time to get off.

It was time to get off all by myself.