Spencer Moseley

Colors are bursting from my heart today. I rely on this color, shaping my world and giving me help. When my inner motivation isn't there, I feel myself drowning and can't be the man I want to be. I want to be consistent, but sometimes just doing my taxes or buying new shirts to replace my torn-button shirts is the biggest effort. And I know I only have myself to blame. I tell myself not to be so hard on myself, but all I can do is imagine better versions of myself that I'm failing to be.  Are my expectations too high? Or am I just a lazy piece of shit? I think this question stems from not feeling loved enough. And I have plenty of friends who love me deeply. So I guess it's not that I'm not objectively loved enough but that I don't feel loved enough. I probably just need to go out with friends more, but when I get home after working my ass off, all I want to do is chill with an unhealthy snack and watch TV. Why are my base tendencies such a far cry from the man ...

There’s been nothing of interest going on in my life. At all. I've been too scared to do whatever I want. I keep waiting for life to magically improve. This idea that someone will come into my life and save me comes from my upbringing. I was brought up with a savior, Jesus, who I always thought would swoop in like a gallant knight and pull me out of my misery. Now I know that if he does exist, he doesn't seem to care; and if he doesn't exist, no one cares. My life is in my hands. God is not in control, I am. And that's terrifying.  We're all just masses of thoughts and emotions on a spinny planet, revolving around the sun in an (in)finite cosmos. For any belief we think we hold, there should be some fine print, subject to change . Even the principled Ned Stark proclaimed Joffrey King before he died. No values are absolute in a relative universe, not even the value that no values are absolute.  There is no certainty, and this bothers me. Sometimes I'm like, Pleas...

  Artemis spotted Hermes a ways off from the meadow where she stood, sharpening her spear. His winged shoes propelled him effortlessly through the air. She smiled. “Did the plan work?” asked Artemis. “Yes,” said Hermes, hovering above her. “He swore on the River Styx, too.” “Good,” she said, taking her spear for a twirl. Hermes pulled out his dagger and countered it in as he landed on the ground. Their sparring collided in a myriad of sparks. Artemis side-stepped his slice. Her spear whirled behind her back and caught Hermes off-guard. The tip was pointing in his face.  “Surprise surprise, Artemis, goddess of the moon, beats me,” he said. Artemis laughed, sheathing her spear behind her back.  “You sure you want to go about it like this?” asked Hermes. “I can think of a number of ways this could go very badly. Even if you convince her, I don’t know how an endless winter will appease anyone.” “I’m sure,” she said. “And I have a plan.” “I’m tired,” he said. “And not up for a...

Hermes de-boarded Charon’s boat on Hades’ shores, a windless corner of the Underworld. Charon groaned, making Hermes’ eyes water with his foul breath, and held out a three-fingered hand.  “Well what’s the point of this?” asked Hermes, waving his Golden Bough sardonically. Charon groaned again, louder, so Hermes flicked him a gold coin.  “Maybe go buy yourself a hot bath and a mint tea,” said Hermes, brushing his blonde curls from his eyes.  Charon’s boat drifted back the way it came, his strange boat somehow able to navigate the twisted River Styx. Hades was force-feeding dates to Persephone as Hermes entered his simple home.  “I just want you to stay with me a little longer, dear,” Hades said as his wife squirmed in frustration. “Nephew, tell her. Tell her that Demeter can suck my—” Persephone swatted a date away, “Do you really think your brother—” “And father-in-law,” interrupted Hades. Persephone frowned, “Do you think he would tolerate an endless famine?” Hades ...

The mule cart followed a road that peeled off into a forest just north of the beach. Moonlight shone through the leaves as the cart bumped over tree roots, forcing the wolf awake every time his eyes began to close. The fishermen grumbled, trying to avoid tripping over roots and stray branches. Then the wolf stood up alert, sniffing the air. A moonlit arrow screamed past his ear into the groin of a fisherman to his left. He let out a sickening cry as he keeled over, clutching himself in agony. The wolf cocked his head in the direction of the arrow. Then another arrow flew by. And another. None missed their target, and the wolf shrieked in excitement. The fishermen threw knives every which way, hoping to hit the killer in the shadows; but sharp arrows found all of them and seemed to come from every direction. As the last man fell, blood pooling around him, a young girl walked into the moonlight in front of the wolf’s cage. Her forehead was beading with sweat, and her skin, like polis...

A wolf vaulted stone pillars jutting from the eastern side of a mountain. He perched at the highest point and studied his surroundings. His keen eyes glimpsed fish netted and tied off by oceanside docks, and his nose caught the scent of tripe simmering on charcoal flames that dotted the shoreline. The laughter and songs of the fishermen made him cock his head. His stomach rumbled fiercely, and he released a muted howl. His worn body showed clear signs he had deserted his pack for a while. He had scratched his itchy hide nearly to the bone where starved ribs peeked out under patchy fur. His tongue dangled loosely from his mouth, and his heavy breathing croaked as he staggered down the mountain towards the sea.  Staying close to the ocean, he avoided detection until he got close to the torch-lit docks. What was left of the wolf's grey fur, illumined by the torches, did not fail to draw the attention of the fishermen. He saw the glint of sharp steel take shape in their hands as he app...

My friend parallel parked at a park with no name in his white, 2004 Mustang. It was Sunday, it was sunny, and we had ordered authentic Honduran food nearby. Cute girls in sundresses passed by, and we felt like kings at a picnic, sprawled out on the grass, soaking in sunlight. "I'm sorry I called you a pussy last night," he said.  "And I'm sorry I was so hard on you," I replied. We both smiled as we chowed into our baleadas.  We'd had a bit too much to drink the night before and had been a bit too honest with each other. But there's nothing worse than a friendship without honesty. I've had too many of those—the ones where I have to walk on eggshells with every word I say, hoping not to trigger an alarm.  But as with everything, even honesty, moderation is key. I tend to go big or go home and see honesty as some absolute necessity. Lots of movies reflect on this and help question the assumption that honesty is always good. I don't remember the ...