The Owlpiphany

Short Stories, Written Late At Night, Based On My Favorite Electronic Songs

For me, listening to music is a gateway to a harmonious world. Like a scene to a romantic play or choreographed dance, music lets my thoughts fly away into a world with a limited error. Like an epiphany, I just decided to write them out one night. The problem was that they were daydreams, clipped, and sped up shortly before bed.

My subconscious mind was gathering information and serving it to me just before my eyes closed shut. During the short window of time, open for my creative mind, I jotted down everything I could. The morning after is when I decided to invent the word, "owlphiphany". You may be wondering what "owlphiphany" means.

Don't call the grammar police. It is a made-up word; just merely a breach in semantics since it is not a word, not yet anyway. Within the library of my mind, "owlphiphany", means a late-night revelation. The morphemes "owl" and "epiphany" are formed together here to create one marvelous term.

I identify as a night owl and especially more since the pandemic. The time locked away gave me an excuse to stay up late listening to different live sets, playlists, and mixes.

Good music keeps me going and, honestly, I wanted to share something exclusive. It's not every day you get to read the intimate and poetic details of someone's life.

So here is my music inspired short story collection, written in quarantine. You have a one-way ticket into my melancholy mind, I'd read it before I regret this. 

PS: Play the music while you read the stories!!

1. Shaper - Without you 

It was the kind of night where you can feel the stars twinkling on your skin, like sparkling glitter powder. It would last only a few more hours but everyone would notice. A nicely decorated cake stood tall on the kitchen table, tempting and waiting to be devoured.

It was a clear city night and she felt the current of energy breathing within the rich architectural landscape. However, the wind bullied the buildings, as they screamed with terror.

She placed the hot coals on the hookah plate and anticipated to feel the tingling nicotine surf down towards her lungs. She wanted to relax and be apart of the turbulent climate without stepping foot into the bustling city night. She was exhausted from shopping all day. A quick stare out the window, below her feet, couldn’t hurt her.

“Woah oh oh... Woah oh oh…”, screamed the neighborhood homeless man. He was simply a familiar face; a personality stolen by heroin. Who would he be without them? He had the most creative mind in a city of dull people. She figured it was the time and the place; LA would have made him famous. She wanted to invite him upstairs for some wine. But, she wondered if she would be alright.

“Ei. oh. ei. oh oh. ei. ah. eh. oh oh.” He was still screaming. Was his tongue composing music to wake the gods or was it an honest cry? An average onlooker would figure that the rhythm of the night was taking him on a subconscious journey through an alternate reality. But, in her gut, she knew something was off.

In the background, the 3 a.m. freight train rang as a "Happy Birthday" balloon waved and danced to the blaring noise.

She could no longer hear his cry for help. She opened the window.

The man she looked up to for critical right-brain advice may have gotten mugged. “Why would someone do such a thing?”, she thought.

She wasn’t in a pensive mood. Emergency situations brought out the proactive side of her, she felt urged to nurse him to the nearest hospital. It would be a matter of her finances. Perhaps in a dystopian future would health care providers take LSD as a form of payment.

She scurried down the stairs and knew if this was the end of his walking life, she couldn’t bear to experience reality without him. He was the 1% that thought differently. He made the city breathe as his thoughts decapitated the null blank formula within the conventional city.

She reached the homeless man and took him to the hospital. He recovered just fine and shared many stories of adversity with her. She was thankful she got to spend time with someone that she used to know. Now, only from a distance.

On her way home, she saw an amorphous cloud of smoke hovering over downtown. It looked like an omniscient deity giving consequences to a subordinate city. “Oh. People stuck in their convention, she thought, can’t even prevent the preventable.”

Her phone rang. It was a generic ring tone. Intrinsically, she was an abstract woman but she hated it when others figured it out before she got to explain her story.

She picked up. It was her neighbor’s number. A deep-voiced man responded.

“Is this Natalie Spaces? Your home is on fire.”

She dropped the phone. Mr. Spaces was still in the hospital. He had no phone, no wallet, and no additional clothing. She realized she was now alone.

“The city cannot survive without you, I can’t breathe without your…”, she thought.

She realized how selfish his addictions had been.

Before, he was still in distance. The moment she intervened, she drove him further away.

The greatest mystery stood within their apartment, wrapped up and disguised as a gift. As the mess from the fire was decluttered, a metal locket was found on top of the kitchen counter. Engraved was, "Come home Mr. Spaces."

2. Tycho - Pink & Blue 

As I starred in your eyes, I couldn’t help but feel a connection.

You and I at that moment felt merely unseparated.

I can’t imagine a world where you feel different.

But, somewhere, that world exists.

Nothing but you and I under the polluted moon and industrially painted sky.

The bright lights glaring into your windows, then onto your glasses, and printing into my heart.

A city most know.

A story about two people hardly anyone knows anything about.

Not even our closest friends.

I peered out to the view to remember how my senses felt.

I placed my fingers on the window to absorb the condensation that surfaced from our passion.

I want to relive that night over and over again.

Groundhog, come back.

I beg the Universe to let me experience history.

Now, you are a memory.

A memory that only exists in my mind.

I am scared that one day I may forget.

I can’t share it anywhere.

No one but me knows how it felt.

How it felt to be wrapped in your perfect arms.

How it felt to feel like everything was going to work out.

Breathe into me again.

Capture the look in my eyes.

Will that help you feel it too?

Whatever I may be to you, maybe a monster, I wonder what made you make an exception for me that week.

I wonder who changed your mind. If you were just arguing with her.

Could she have dismissed you for that time?

Could I have simply been the second option to keep your dopamine high?

I want you to make me your second option every week until there are no weeks left.

I would like that feeling to last a lifetime.

Worldviews and sense clash.

Communication and feelings are absent.

The theory of romance is blank.

When I stare into the pond, the window, the bright lights…

When I listen to music…

When I float away in my dreams….

You are always present there.

And, that is probably the only place you will ever exist again.

3. KREAM- Deep End

I woke up in a bed of money and it wasn’t just a dream or monopoly. I remember the night before and I know how much is presented amongst me. ONE MILLION DOLLARS. And, by my amazement, I am the true owner.

Each of these bills represents my hard work on the ladder of success. I no longer feel unsafe. I can eat happily, in peace, in the living room. There are no hiding places in my home.

I chose to sleep in it on purpose. I wanted to wake up the sound of crunch and the smell of currency. No longer would I need that obnoxious alarm. It would now be my ambition that would awaken me.

I am lying in my bed, within my room, and within my house. Its signature is my style filled with Earthy colors and personal art. I feel like I am outside each second I am indoors. I feel one with nature and in sync with the universe’s plan for me.

My backyard is full of diverse plants and sunshine. There is not a scarcity of water. I have a drop-off pool that provides an optical illusion of a waterfall being poured into the beautiful cityscapes.

Yoga even has it’s own room.

The best thing? My thermostat is controlled by me and I can put it as cool or warm as I want.

I am an individual and I can plan for whatever I like without feeling helpless or limited.

I can throw a party any night of the week. As long as work is finished, of course.

I have friends and potential lovers who don’t smell money in my hair.

They appreciate me, for me.

I am thriving off income and it is because I chose to fall right in the deep end.

I had no idea where it would take me; some may say I took the short and narrow path. Sure I was stuck, but, that led me to my version of heaven.

Stuck isn’t even a word in my vocabulary anymore.

I am a moving piece each and every day.

In my driveway is a Tesla Model X.

In my garage is my very own Koenigsegg.

Most of my out of reach neighbors assume I am a middle-aged man.

I am only a girl whose mother is money and whose father is successful.

4. ILY - Surf Mesa

Even if it slipped from his lips out of a prerecorded fallacy based on his last relationship, those words sustained her.

She needed to feel that from the right tongue so badly.

It happened as his breath spilled notes of IPA into the air and as the children sang songs with their pipe.

He misread the blueprint of the basic convention of dating and sought out exactly what she needed.

The emotional satisfaction of 0.5% filled his heart with blood and transfused his feelings into her veins.

She needed to be coddled emotionally and although the nights have been dry and their connection was far away, those three words seemed to create a ballet between her soul and the Earth.

The world was ending, people were dying, the planet was rebirthing, and her soul needed reviving.

Those three words.

It was a magical lyric with a smooth rhythmic balance.

It may have been a lie, it may have been a drunken error, but she believed it.

She accepted those words into her heart.

It was a whimsical dream but inside the dry river of a twenty-something year old, nothing seemed more charming.

She was running out of goods, she was strained on income, and she had every stress in the world.

She nearly thought she lost him.

But, then, the conversation went quiet and she heard the words that caused her hand to move the phone even closer to her ear.

The vibrations of his voice sent a wave of shock into her mind and ignited a fire that was unsusceptible of douse.

She stuttered and wanted to say it back, but, she didn’t understand the confusion of unforeseen events.

There was so much going on that she simply could not wrap her thoughts around. She maintained a simple routine; the spontaneous trips to see him was the exception.

And it was that lack of fear that opened up the gates to her heart. The sweet little openings in his heart, which went unspoken, is what switched the frequency.

Within the midst of hell, the clouds parted, the sun came out, and the sun rays poured over her sweet hair. He smelled it and thought it was good.

The omniscient deity above us only knows the truth. Whoever that could be would also know she didn’t mind his secrets.

To bathe in these feelings were created for the rich and famous. Tonight, they were simply curated for her.

He left her with that. It may be the last. He might regret it tomorrow. But, until the morning those words were all hers.

I love you.

5. Seven Lions - Falling Away

She woke up alone in miles stretched inside an empty forest, beneath the treetops that clouded the sunny rays.

They had left her, by her self, free from obnoxious cues and delirious accusations.

She felt less alone; it wasn’t a common stigma.

As she danced within the indigenous cocoon of forest and nature, she realized how introverted she had been.

She reminisced on the special events, shredding dance moves, and the constant spread of reciprocated information.

But, as she did this, she realized how detrimental it was.

She had much more fun dancing alone.

To her right were the largest pumpkins she had ever seen.

Her taste buds were filled with desire as a trail of golden steps appeared to the epiphany of fruit.

It was a giant pumpkin, but, she would rather it be called a palace.

She knew this was created just for her, made specifically for her liking.

The pumpkin was decorated with natural perfumes—dainty, yet, sweet.

Butterflies fluttered in between her hair and waved her buoyant hair stands around.

Mushrooms became chairs.

It was a twist of Alice.

Inside she could see a silhouette of a man waving at her.

He was approximately 6 ft tall, with a generous smile.

He offered to pick her up in a vehicle made out of rainbows.

It was acid’s greatest dream.

The girl wasn’t dreaming at all.

She finally had what her subconscious wanted.

A custom made home, a unique form of transportation, exotic furniture, a beautiful partner, and kind and light-hearted friends.

We will be alright.

Perfect words blurted from the man in the palace, “Tomorrow when we meet, I’ll take you to a place you’ve never been.”

Awestruck she was, in her own kingdom of manifested dreams.

She had to be hurt to be transported to her own version of paradise.

The destination was revealed when she learned to be grateful for her current status, which was, alone.

Once she was content with being alone, she was granted everything she wanted.

6. Bayonne - Uncertainly deranged (Manatee Commune Remix)

An emperor of incandescent light and beauty filled the streams of light.

It glazed over the black granite floors and stood silently beside the boisterous music.

It provided support to the night owls and acted as caffeine to those who were lucid dreaming.

The robots of broken dreams filled the drugged halls and bathrooms of the want to be cyborgs.

It was a generation who believed their very existence and generations to come was dependent on how well they succumbed to technological advancements/ pressures.

Certainly, it is a sad reality.

Everything that makes these night owls human is vacuumed out through every shuffle and Charleston.

We are just trying to forget our worries, but, in the midst of forgetting, we have deleted way too much.

When they leave they rebuilt who they are while under the influence of lifeless substances.

Tequila made a nice man angry.

Vodka made a virgin a shit.

Weed eradicated the stamina in an unflawed student.

They volunteered to be imperfect under the radiant moon.

It is ok; younger years are meant for releasing built-up tension.

Next weekend, they say.

The habit was created before they even showered for the evening.

The DJ had a recipe in his set to hypnotize his crowd.

The lights were just his accomplice, that masked a desolated facility into a festival of broken desire.

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