Brandon Scott Gorrell wrote a simple story called Night Owl.

Then Mazie Louis wrote a version of it. So did Chris Killen and Ken Baumann. Sam Pink did the story too. And so did Colin Basset. Mandy Murphy, Maya, Frank Morgan, Daniel Bailey, and xtx have all jumped on board. Eventually everyone wrote their own Night Owl. Well, that seems to be the plan.

The thing is Brandon Scott Gorrell really created a story that speaks to a generation of shitheads. Maybe that’s a little harsh, but I don’t feel that saying ‘crap brains’ has the same resonance. Besides when I say, that Gorrell speaks to a generation of shitheads it’s a comment in passing, something that gives me an established opinion on the topic, maybe even a little blurb he can add to his credentials, but more than anything it is meant as a compliment because let’s face it I’m just as much of a shithead as anyone and his story speaks to me.

I’m also very jealous because on the one hand, Brandon Scott Gorrell, as he said in an interview with himself, is very bored, but on the other hand he has created an army that might possibly take over millions of book shelves when everything is all said and done. On top of this jealousy there is a bit of rage because someone has stolen a loaf from my bread basket and I want to believe it was Brandon Scott Gorrell though I know it wasn’t.

The second version of Night Owl by Mazie Louise Montgomery is something of a damning confessional. And now I often wonder if I didn’t have a sheltered upbringing when I read something like this.

The Chris Killen Night Owl is reminds me of the brother I never had. I didn’t cry, but a few times I thought I heard footsteps in the hallway and the sound of a small child asking me if I wanted to play catch.

Then there is the Ken Baumann version which just makes me want to draw tiny elephants on my own eyes. I’m not talking about my eyelids either. I mean the eyeball itself.

The Sam Pink Night Owl project kind of reminds me of a time when I was learning to read and the teacher showed me a book about the caterpillar and how it turned into a butterfly.

Then there is Colin Basset’s attempt which would make any father proud.

Mandy Murphy wrote a version that made me blush and is bound to make her mother call her unchristian things.

Maya wrote in the same style as Ms. Murphy only it came out inverted.

Frank Morgan made me feel like I was just sitting on a riverbank with no worries, twiddling my thumbs.

I did not read Daniel Bailey’s night owl creation. It was raining. I had to buy an umbrella, but I wonder if I would have been just as dry if I had stayed home and read the D.B. night owl.

xtx made a night owl video which I like to listen to while two recordings of it play at the same time. Try it, press play on both of the videos, but make sure to wait ten seconds in between each.

And in the time it’s taken to write this review four more night owls have been written.

Prathna Lor offers a version that makes me wonder if we weren’t all built in factories.

Jeffery Heart drew his version of the story and it feels like I was hit over the head with a flower pot.

Krammer wrote a very ugly story and didn’t seem to have anything to do with night owl other than saying it was about night owl

And finally, it wouldn’t be a proper review if I didn’t include my own version of Night Owl.

Night Owl number 15

They’ve had me perched here for years with nothing to do but look at this flashing box. A new correspondence came. I gave it a nod and then followed its directives. More blinking. More blinking. More blinking. Others came to inspect me, but they just stood outside my room whispering. More blinking. I got off my perch and covered my legs. Somewhere outside my room there is a store. I was there. A purchase was made.

"The courtesy of this fine world," said the other who took my money.

"See you later maybe," I said.

I went back to my perch in my room, away from the store. I inspected the purchase. More blinking. Finally one of the others came in to inspect me.

"More blinking?" he asked.

"More blinking," I said.

That’s all that was said.

I couldn’t think of anything else.

"Ha ha,” I said just to say something.

This other just stood at my perch watching the flashing box. More blinking. Then he left. I inspected my purchase with my lips and mouth. More blinking. I inspected the purchase so much that it disappeared. I got off my perch and covered my legs again. My arms felt naked, but there was no solution so I left the room. I asked one of the others where the solution was. They shrugged their shoulders. I returned to my perch to find the solution. Things moved on the couch and in my closet, but there was no solution. There was nothing under my perch. I put on a sweatshirt as a compromise, but it was not the solution I was looking for. I did not know where my jacket was. I left my perch.

"What’s your intention," said one of the others.

"There is a celebration in order. Of what I do not know," I said.

I went to a place that was outside my room. There was a river. I walked over it. The night clouded my understanding. The celebration was lost from me. It was an hour before midnight. A blinking pole told me to turn left. The celebration became visible. It was in order, so I approached.

"Pay the celebration tax," said the other at the door.

I gave him the tax.

"Give him the marking," said the other at the door.

I gave myself up to the marking. I was marked. The marking said I was timid. I walked to a place of consumption. A couple of others were in charge of this place of consumption. I watched them and watched them some more. Their inspection of me was fleeting.

"Tell me your desires," one of them said.

"I’d like to make a purchase," I said.

She made something for me to purchase.

“What is the price of this purchase," I said.

More blinking.

"?" I said.

"Money," she said.

I gave her my plastic card.

"There will be more purchases," I said.

I walked to a table with my purchase. The music malfunctioned. One of the others with a knowledge of such problems ran to the music box. The ear blinking returned. The door admitted no new others. I inspected the purchase with my lips for a while. One other began dancing in front of the music box. Ear blinking. My position in society was literally stationary. Ten others entered. None of them inspected me. I returned to the place where I had entered.

"Do I have to resubmit forms for re-entry," I said.

"Do whatever you like with your freedom," the other at the door said.

One other inspecting the situation laughed.

“Cheers to you,” I said.

There were other places in the world. I saw a place to make more purchases. I ignored it. I went on to the other places. Another place to make purchases was closed. I went back to where I had come from. I went to the place I ignored.

"Can I make a purchase?" I said.

"Do you want this," the other in charge of purchases said. He pointed to something.

"Yes," I said.

"Do you want this," the other pointed at something else.

"Yes," I said.

"Do you want this," the other pointed at a third thing.

"Yes," I said.

I gave the other something and then he gave me something. I inspected my purchase with my lips, teeth, mouth, throat, and stomach. With my purchase I returned to where I had come from. I walked to the celebration. There were more others than a previous time in history. I returned to a place I had been before in this celebration.

"Can I make a purchase?" I said.

The other did not ask my desires this time. The other gave me the same purchase I had gotten at a previous time. I went to music box area. Ear blinking. No one inspected me. "There are no others here that I like," I thought. I watched the other who knew how to run the music box. Ear blinking. An other inspected me. It smiled.

"Hi," the other said.

I smiled. The greeting was returned.

The other tried to inspect me. I tried to let them. Ear blinking. It was a failure. The other began inspecting someone else. Then the other gave me an advertisement for a future celebration. I did not see this other again. "I want no more of this place." I went to the place of purchases.

I began to ask for a purchase, but I couldn’t say it.

I was inspected. They did not let me have anymore purchases.

The other gave me my plastic card. I had taken off the substitute for the solution earlier. I went to get my sweatshirt. It was lost. I looked. It was lost. I looked. It was lost. I stood there. Ear blinking. Then I looked again. The substitute to the solution was found. I put on the sweatshirt. I returned to where I had come from. There was a food market. It was a pair of hours after midnight. I filled a basket with purchases. I put a few purchases in my pocket. “I have made enough purchases.” I purchased the things in the basket. I returned to where I had come from with the two bags of purchases. Then I woke up the next day. The leg coverings were somewhere. I was still wearing the substitute to the solution. The flashing box was on my perch. I was puzzled. I did not know if I had puked from all my purchases at the celebration or if this was just a thought in my head. I knew there had been a thought in my head while I slept about a stage production I conducted explaining to the others why I wasn’t the solution and why they would need to get a substitute for me. These others wanted me out of the perch. They wanted someone new to inspect.