Spencer Moseley

"Do you even like the zoo that much?" "Not really." "Then why are we here?" "Well it feels like something I should like?" "Why?" "Well I grew up going to the zoo and I know I like animals." "Sure." "And I like, like... going out and shit." "And?" "So I feel like when those things combine I should be like into it, ya know?" "That's where I lose you. It's like you think because you like peanut butter and cloves, you think that a peanut butter covered clove would be tasty." "That's a really weird example. Also I'm not sure that wouldn't be tasty, can't quite picture the flavor." "That's a fair point haha. But it's not as weird an example as your shit." "Can we just look at these koalas in peace?" "I'm bored." "Me too." "Then let's go get a daiquiri." "I'm not really in the...

Stacey played with me in the sprinkler system. We threw our hands in the air, wagged our tongues and drank the water, spit it out and jumped as high as we could. We basically danced and twirled in circles while simultaneously laughing and singing whatever songs came to our heads.  "You trying to piss off the whole neighborhood?" shouted my dad.  We quieted down until he went back inside.  "Hey, let's go look for worms," I told her.  "Yes!" We pulled up rocks and looked for worms. I found a slug! I melted it with some salt. My mom shouted at me and called me cruel and I apologized until I cried.  Punished, I went to my room and sat on the floor with a towel around me. I was dripping water on the carpet. I looked at the bookshelf and pulled Huckleberry Finn down. I read this part: “Now, we’ll start this band of robbers and call it Tom Sawyer’s Gang. Everybody that wants to join has got to take an oath, and write his name in blood.” I wanted to join Tom S...

I'm reading an amazing book called Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents , and I would recommend this book to anyone. It's been an extremely healing read for me.  The biggest thing I've noticed in myself, from reading this book, is that I play a role in doing whatever it takes to be liked. That desire for people to think I'm kind or empathetic or nice has kept me from being honest at times. And I don't think empathy or kindness are bad, but when being nice becomes more important than telling someone they hurt my feelings, or when being nice means ignoring how I've been mistreated so I don't rock the boat too much, it becomes a supression of my own needs at my own expense.  And trying so hard to be liked probably has the opposite effect I'm going for. When people see my attempts at getting attention through jokes or a blog or a fake compliment, I'm sure it comes off as insincere as it is. And when people sense insincerity, they usually don...

What is the meaning of life though? asked Samuel.  Here I am Lord, joked Damian. Hey you got something. He wiped some crumbs off Samuels' jacket and looked around the park.  I just think there's something I'm missing, said Samuel. I feel this deep pang of like existential loneliness, ya know?       Yeah man. Damian's tone was kind of dismissive. And the fact that he sounded like he was trying to tone that down annoyed Samuel more.  What are you looking at?  Nothing, much, said Damian. Those ducks are cute though, huh.  Samuel looked at them. Yeah I guess. He was trying not to care too much about black smudges on his shoes. I just think maybe I'm not doing something that would help me.  Aren't we all? laughed Damian.  Yeah I guess.  Hey, said Damian, let's go to the carnival. They went to the Texas carnival and talked while eating turkey legs.  Samuel talked some more about his existential crisis, but Damian was pretty dist...

“Get out, get out,” she said, backing up far enough for his penis to exit her.  “What is it?” He asked. “I’m… not sure we should be doing this.” “What?” “It’s just. It’s November 26th. And I think Fr. Mike said something about two weeks after my period being an off time for sex... if we don't want...” “Ah,” he said. He quickly put on his underwear.  “I’ll check the catechism,” she said.  “No, stay here. I’ll go get it.” Chris Dunham found it on their creaky wooden bookshelf and brought it in. His wife had put on loose fitting PJs and they read the part about marriage and sex. But they couldn’t find anything covering post-period sex. They went to bed, groines aching, and agreed to go see Fr. Mike that Saturday after confession for clarity.  Fr. Mike left the confessional that next Saturday and saw them standing there in the empty chapel. It was Beth who broached the awkwardness and explained the situation.  "We can't afford another child right now," whispered Chr...

I wake up and open a note, folded nicely on my nightstand.  I'm Anna. You're 74 and I'm 80. We're married. These are the first three things I want you to remind me of when I enter your room at 9 A.M.. I have dementia so I need the reminders. The nurse will wheel me into your room after I've woken up. Can you hold out on eating so we can have breakfast together? -Anna Lee Hernandez I take and consume some pills from a sweet nurse. Anna shows up at 9 A.M. like she said she would with a nurse pushing her chair. I sit up in bed and read the note again and stutter through the reminders. I leave out the dementia part, of course. Anna nods, smiles and kisses me. I kiss her too and she tastes like toothpaste.  "I love you, Anna," I say.  "I love you too," she says. She helps me out of bed and calls me "silly", but it feels good to hear it from her. She makes my bed even though the nurse tries to do it. Anna just says, "wheel me when I ask ...

Before the altar I knelt and poured an elf's blood. It had curdled from sitting in the vial too long, so I had to tap the back of it.  The priest walked to the altar quickly, showing no emotion. He hovered over the altar and prayed a blessing or a curse. I could not say. It was his secret prayer. I saw his lips move, nothing more. And the stone temple, full of dancing light from torches in their sconces, still felt cold. It was a blessing. The elf's blood bubbled and a small flower bloomed in the center. I didn't know the purpose of these rituals. I was simply an acolyte in my roughspun tunic, trying to remain unmoving, kneeling on bruised knees. The priest plucked it from the small blood puddle and inspected it's gold petals, it's silver bud, it's delicate green stem, and his eyes looked greedy. He nodded at me dismissively, and I walked to the acolyte's quarters as quickly as possible. But something about his eyes had made me curious. So I hastened to the ...