Spencer Moseley

Ya don't say! I said.  Why'd you say that? I asked myself. I anxiously did something weird with my hands. That must be what that bitch means by my anxious motions, I thought. Meh. She was right. I shouldn't feel so annoyed with her for just calling me out. Just felt like a power imbalance. Like she could correct me on shit but if I returned the favor, suddenly it's a problem. Even though her public speaking delivery was about as energized as a turtle who'd just hit a blunt.  Fortunatelyyyy Maggie didn't mind what I'd said and smiled and a small laugh slipped out. Not forced, I noticed. I liked how her smile was small on her face. Because her face was rather round and made her whole mouth look small. Like one of those weird paintings.  I gave her the ice cream cone that had slightly dripped on my thumb and she started licking it. I couldn't help feeling a little turned seeing her tongue like that. My brain immediately wandered. But then we sat down and ta...

He bent over, unsure if he wanted to be there but already committed. It was immediate, no buildup. He moaned. Not with pleasure. But with what he'd heard others do in videos. It seems right, he thought, pushing the man's chest to where the man was now on his back while he did the riding. It wasn't bad, but he wasn't getting much pleasure from the experience. At least, not as much as the man was. He reflected that it might be nice to hop off and get the man an Uber right then. But that felt selfish. He allowed things to continue. Then he lay back and let the man finish on his stomach. Now that was unpleasant.  The man kissed him, telling him how his noises had helped him get there. It felt like a pro sport post game interview. He nodded and smiled hoping it looked genuine. He didn't quite feel like he was in his body. Literally. He saw himself from the side of the bed and watched the man hovering over him, breathing heavily. He watched himself smile and could see fro...

He danced. And at one point it felt more like the music was moving him than like he was moving to the music. His necklace felt uncomfortable as the sweaty ends of his hair got caught in it as he thrashed around, but he hardly noticed. He had not felt this free in a long time. As thoughts of pursuing other girls subsided, all that was left was the music, occasional sips of vodka cranberry, and wondering what position the music would direct him to next. He swayed. He imagined girls being into his perceived carefree attitude. But I bet they can detect that too, he thought. Girls can always tell, huh. Then the DJ directed some bullshit line dance, and his rhythm broke. He felt discombobulated. He tried to keep up briefly through the first part of the song but to no avail. He panicked slightly too. But he calmed himself, remembering that the moment would pass and a better song would come on. Why did he panic so easily? he wondered. He shut his eyes and just swayed, knowing he must look sill...

You are not what I intended, Creator said. You're even better.  The humanoid's arms moved, exploring the dark room, lit only by the hallway light slipping through the cracks of a door.  I shall name you Steven, he said.  Steven did not acknowledge that but did fall off the cold steel operating table. He was oozing a yellow-white liquid, but Creator did not panic. He simply watched. Not indifferent.  Steven's arms shook as he lifted his humanoid frame, liquid dripping from his body. He crawled freakishly fast to the sliver of door light, and he started banging on the door. His screams sounded like a deaf man's. His eye scanner scanned the door. And rescanned several times. Finding no weaknesses, he sat down, breathing heavily.  It's okay, Steven. You are okay. Creator brushed his fingers through his dark brown goatee and a hint of a smile crept across his face.  It's time you explore the outside, he said. Creator's eye scanner made some self-checkout scannin...

I scoured the karaoke bar desperately searching for a hot single girl. There was a table of three girls and two guys, so perhaps one of them was single. That felt somewhat promising. I kept refreshing FB Dating and decided to spend ten minutes swiping. My friends were not on their phones so I felt guilty for being on mine. But I crushed that doubt remembering that nothing means anything and that we will all eventually die so who cares.  The table had lots of wet spots, and I didn't want to touch it since it was sticky too. I had already bought four green tea shots and I was slowly sipping a Gatorade-green margarita—so sugary I could not taste the Lalo Tequila I had spent extra money for.  I reminded myself what ChatGPT had told me. It said that looking for girls instead of being present is usually a less enjoyable time, and it was right. Damn that AI is good , I thought. So I tried to get back to the moment and turned to my friend to make fun of one of the singers. We had some...

I agonized over seeing if the Chinatown pet spa had finished grooming my dog or not; but I hated to be that guy. The guy who bothers people. The spa lady told me that I would get a text when my dog was ready, and I hadn't gotten a text yet. On top of that I was anxious about being late for an appointment. So anyway I walked past the spa. "For sure I'll return and check on him soon," I thought, trying to restore my self-confidence. Lying to myself that I was just "giving the spa people more time" reduced my conviction that I was a pussy. I walked past the spa. I had no real plan. I had just finished a gym workout, but I hadn't walked a full thirty minutes after said workout. This could be my cooldown walk. I entered an Asian liquor store near the spa. It was clean and smelled like a minty car air freshener. The store's AC was just weak enough to be uncomfortable. There was an oval, wrap-around counter in the center of the store, which looked more like...

Why did you have to be such a bitch , he thought. He rubbed his eyes and starred out the slightly dirty car window. One traffic light made him squint, and he noticed its rays shining in four distinct directions.  She didn’t have to be such an asshole at the end. But maybe she did. Maybe that’s how you make sure two people don’t try to linger as friends who secretly still want something. He sipped some Mike's Hard Lemonade that his friend had left in his cupholder. It was warm.  He was waiting for her to finish some fight with a bridezilla she'd run into in the bar. He wanted to fuck her, sort of. Not really. He was just sad and craving something tender. He leaned his seat back fully and balled his eyes out. He felt his chest heave and ho as it always did with heavy sobs.  But then it subsided, and he was back to a semi-depressed, semi-okay state of mind. The most common state in his adult life. When had he lost his passion? he thought. Was it when he left the military? Wa...

It wouldn't be accurate to say they ignored Tim. They called Tim. They talked to Tim. But there was some force field limit. A wall that couldn't be breached, not unlike that giant bubble in Star Wars Clone Wars that kept out the invaders with their red laser bullets.  "How's work going, Tim?" They'd ask him.  "Oh it's fine," he'd say. And perhaps he'd go into more detail. Perhaps he'd mention a coworker who'd given him trouble. Or a new project that was tiring him out. But then this limit would come up whenever it drifted toward why his days were heavy. Like someone quietly turning a dial down. Not hostile. Just… less room. His lack of Christian faith seemed to sit there between them. And so any conversation that ventured into why his life was difficult was nearly off-limits. Not because his sibs would fight him on it, but because they felt his issues would be non issues if he simply returned to Christ. He had tried talking about ...

His head was bald, except for some, what looked like 5 o'clock shadow beard stubble, on one part of his head. Like if you were to look at someone's head from above and divide it into four quadrants, that beard stubble would be covering one of those quadrants. The stubble looked like the rough side of Velcro. And then he had toilet paper wrapped around his head where a headband would normally sit. There was no blood or anything, so I wasn't sure if this was a fashion or religious choice. Like maybe his religion demanded some headwear, but he'd forgotten to put on his religious headwear that morning; and this was his only way of meeting that obligation.  None of that matters to this story. I'm not even sure if this is a story really. All that to say, this man was talking in broken English to a lady across from him. She was mostly dressed normally, all in black, and her English was equally broken. Well not broken. I think in order to speak in broken English, you would ...

Colorful ribbons connected the rooftops for the Dia de los Muertos celebration. Those lights you always see at bars with an outdoor patio were also strewn around. I liked that.  I grabbed a concha from a street vendor, not because I particularly liked them—they always drained the moisture out of my mouth—but because they reminded me of grandma. Anytime she was with us as kids she always had to buy us conchas or those empanadas with pumpkin.  I was by myself this year and had snagged a candle with a base to catch the wax. I walked around the courtyard and looked at the murals with skeletons. Some were playing instruments. And some were in ridiculous dance poses. But they were all happy.  I wasn't unhappy or happy this year. I was as indifferent as could be. And that felt worse. I wanted to feel SOMETHING. Especially with the death of my grandma having been so recent. I was SUPPOSED to feel something looking at these scenes. The only thing catching my eye were the gorgeous ...

Content note: This piece explores themes of depression and suicidal thoughts in a fictional context. Please take care while reading. "Things really took a turn when you dyed your hair jet black," I said. "They turned before that." "When?" I persisted. "This was always me."  I heard the shakiness in the voice. I could feel their anxiety so fully. How could I empathize this completely? Never mind that. I dug my heels in.  "You wrote poetry before." "I wasn't really a poet though. I was a wannabe poet." "I liked your poems." The shaking came next. The breaths grew shallow. Red flush to the face. "If you think I can just be that unstable loser I once was—" Wait.  The "I"... wasn't me...  Someone else was talking to me— Questioning me.

The clinks of silverware on plates. The sizzle of eggs frying in hot oil. The smiles of my waitresses, their soothing voices. It was almost too much in Houston's Avalon Diner. Not objectively too much. Just too much for me. You see, for me to not have anxiety, I need to be curled up with my dog watching TV and partially dissociating in a comfy bed. And outside of that experience, fear accompanies me in some small way.  "I'll umm, yeah umm. I'll umm have the, uhh, water and a coffee please." "Would you like to order food too?" (I think she said that, couldn't quite hear her so I assumed that's what she said).  "Oh, yes, umm, I'll also have the uhh, turkey, cheese—swiss cheese—and avocado omelet." "Yes sir," and she said it with an affectionate smile I didn't feel I deserved.  Jesus, dude, how many times you gonna say umm and uhh?? The wait for each item was perfect. I was able to finish a chapter of my book between each...

Person 1: Holy shit, there’s a person standing on top of that building. Person 2: Holy—damn, you’re not kidding. Except he or she… they? Looks weird. Person 1: Yeah. I see a face. Person 2: Same. And a giant heart underneath it. Person 1: Where’s the rest of his body? Person 2: Yep. Wait is it a him? Oh yeah it’s a him. I see it now. Person 1: He has no other body parts. Just a face and a heart. WTF. Person 2: Is he trying to jump? Person 1: He’s definitely looking down at us. He’s smiling. (beat) Now he’s panicking. Person 2: Oh god. I can see his heart pounding. Like… aggressively. What the fuck is this? Person 1: I just wanted to see the Empire State Building. Person 2: Should we call for help? Person 1: OH SHIT. HE’S JUMPING. Person 2: Wh—what the— Why is he falling in slow motion? Person 1: He’s not falling. He’s… hovering. Person 2: He’s fully freaking out. But also— He's... fine? Person 1: I don’t want to catch him. Person 2:  Ew gross. Why would we? P...

i don't wanna keep living in a world where we pretend the “Baskin Robbins” logo shouldn’t be a robin (the bird) “basking” in the sunlight. we simply have to be better as a species and make this happen. not for our sake— for posterity. would we really want aliens to visit us and NOT see that? that’s the real question. a superhero whose only power is that he has a detachable penis. now that’s a story i can get behind. he uses his own dick as a whip, swinging it by the shaft while the hairy balls knock out his foes. okayyyy, spencer. stfu. lately i’ve been feeling like a silly goose. not always in the good way. i think it’s cuz i let judgment get to me. like if i’m singing in a grocery store (not too loudly, i’m not a psycho) and people look at me unfavorably, i give fucks. i literally hand them a fuck. they open the fuck-letter and it reads: “i’m sorry for being me. you are entitled to this letter as emotional compensation for making you feel uncomfortable while you looked for ...

tell me a story, said my son. i tussled his hair. tussling is my thing. love a tussle. and i cracked open dr. seuss to page 40. just kidding. no dr. seuss book makes it past 3 pages, i’m pretty sure. GREEN EGGS AND HAM… then something about yams. idk. i lost the plot because i’d been selling bullshit all day and i was tired. but my son was fascinated. he was past the thumb-sucking age but now in the nail-picking stage, and he hung onto every word with this neutral expression, barely suppressing how excited he was that i was reading to him. i’m not sure what he got out of it. ok, just kidding again. he loved me. and i loved him. and reading to him connected us. and dr. seuss had enough rhyme scheme and a passable plot to keep his young brain engaged. i sipped my coffee. it had unsweetened almond milk and was an unsweet coffee. it had this fake flavor i could tolerate and slightly enjoy. chobani’s unsweet creamer was also weird. i guess all diet drinks are. he lulled into sleep at pa...

un. cer. tain. ty.  what a word. this encapsulates my whole life transition lately. i feel very much uncertain and anxious. i always have and i suppose i always will. i think on the positive side of this, i am very sensitive to others and myself. i can read people. i can see when i've taken a joke too far. i can tell when someone else has taken a joke too far. but the downside is a sickening anxious feeling in my stomach. i crave certainty. because to me certainty = safety. but safety also = boredom. so i've been trying to transition to seeing that sickening feeling as an opportunity for adventure. that sickening feeling is interesting for me. it can overwhelm my brain to where i can't process thoughts. it would be like driving and then all of a sudden a wall comes up in front of you on the highway and you crash. airbag deploys. driving halted abruptly. that's how waves of anxiety hit me. i can start to feel like taking my skin off. i pick at my nails to manage this fee...

I was in a sentimental place for my last post. and now i'm more somber. somber is a good word huh. feels like you're cuddling with that one bear from that movie with the kid and the bear. i remember he looked like a younger tarzan or something. wtf was that movie about anyway? had some remake with christopher waken? Walken? Walker? Johnnie Walker black on ice.  But anyway yeah i'm somber. how bout that weather huh? and them gas prices?  i put my hand to my heart now and that's my prayer. i imagine this cool jesus. partially the jesus from the bible. partially my imagination. and he's always chilled out and having a good time. how do some people always seem at peace and chillin', you know? like mannn there's shit out here to worry about how can you be all chillaxedddd.  i wanna go clubbing this weekend in a gandalf costume. and do some karaoke. and have those things that you crack and they light up neon green all over me. and wear light up shoes. that would b...

I'm feeling a lot of inner change lately. The kind that makes you think and rethink and come to grips. And loosen other grips. And then grip again. That gorilla grip grip gripping. I'm pretty sure this writing style is annoying. No actually — I’m gonna be confident in it and just roll with this. I've been practicing more confidence. Unleashing my inner self. That feels good. It feels aligned. I haven't trusted myself. Maybe ever. I've always felt a need to prove myself. And be something. To others. Someone people looked up to. Looked at. Admired. Loved. Needed. I want to be needed. Not really loved. I don't think I've ever craved a lot of love. Maybe that's ’cause I've always had love and taken it for granted — unlike some others less fortunate. I feel bad for them. But wanting to be needed perhaps comes from a deeper well of insecurity I'm uncovering lately. I feel like I'm digging things up. Unearthing things. And it's painfu...

There was an Indian man sitting at a 45 degree angle from me at the campfire. He wasn't handsome. He had those jowls that bulldogs have and a white scar that zig zagged from his nose to the corner of his lip. I didn't know his name. In fact I hadn't said a word to him. But he intrigued me. I also couldn't stop looking at him. He was mostly quiet, and people would say things to him, and his directness and lack of social skills eventually pushed them away. He just tended to the fire. I don't know if he liked doing it. But he never stopped. And he had this old fashioned lantern that he filled with some sort of bullshit from his knapsack. Yeah a knapsack—with those colorful leather strips hanging from it that I saw in Pocahontas or whatever. The fire crackled and burned and a part of me wondered if he was on this pilgrimage almost for some sort of revenge reasons. There was a slight anger in his expression underneath the stoic look. He also stayed awake long after every...

     We walked alone through the woods, and I listened to the crunch of autumn leaves beneath our boots. We wore frayed tunics with our cowls pulled over our necks and heads. With each breath, ice-cold oxygen stung my windpipe, and I could feel it all the way to my stomach. I hadn't eaten all day and half-wondered if the air itself was quenching my hunger.      "I'm depressed," I said suddenly, surprising myself. I felt shocked, as if the words had sprung from my mouth accidentally.       David said nothing, and his silence sent me into a panic. Had I infringed on his conversational comfort levels? Lord knows it wouldn't be the first time I'd done that to a friend.       Friend? Boyfriend? Friend? Boyfriend?      He pulled an apple from his satchel and handed it to me. Then he pulled another and started eating it. I tried to glean anything from his expression, but he looked like I hadn't said anything. ...