Second Meeting

We had a great meeting with excellent readings from Krystal, Natalie, Karen, David, Mario and Bayardo. All kinds of writing, including prose fiction, poetry and this memoir from Bayardo Lacayo. GREAT WRITING GUYS!!

Concealed Infinity

Solitude. Most people would forget to acknowledge Time and its solace. These moments in which nothing happens. We shrug it off, defining memoirs as a collection of events, and defining events as something that happens – an occurrence. And yet, during these times of solitude, we think. I cannot write of this as any specific “event”, seeing as nothing “happened”. I could write of my eyelids opening and closing, or my chest rising and falling, but it would be irrelevant. Instead, all I can think of is my thinking, appreciating Time and its solitude, but first, despising it.

I rose from my bed, paced back and forth, rearranged my desk supplies, turned off the television, made my bed, and jumped back in. 327 ticks. I remember that clearly. The saying “idle hands are the devil’s tools” comes to mind, but I firmly believe that we are our own devils. With free Time, we are given to opportunity to evaluate ourselves, and at times, we do not like what we see. So we long for anything to do.

Against my better judgment, I decided to think. My original thoughts were to find something to do. Anything. But I failed miserably. “Tick,” whispered the Clock. A little over five and a half minutes had passed, and I felt I had done nothing. The popcorn ceiling began to stare at me, taunting my very existence. It had a single purpose: it kept the elements from breaching into my home. Plenty more than I could say of myself.

Frustrated, I began to think of insignificant details, wondering how many dots there were on the ceiling in my room. “Tick,” murmured the Clock. But then something interesting happened: I began to think on a larger scale. First, the number of dots on the ceiling in my house, followed by the amount of dots in my apartment complex. “Tick,” pleaded the Clock. Eventually, I reached galactic proportions. The number of stars in the universe began to interest me. The number of stars, the number of galaxies, the number of numbers in the world. And still, the only number that truly mattered was the number of ticks that had passed by.

To be honest, all I remember is that my tiny blue Clock kept on ticking; the incessant ticking filling the role of an old man’s beating heart. “Tick”, yelled the Clock. But a part of me realized that I could use Time to learn, not to stagnate like I had been doing. Time was not the enemy. We are our own enemies, not taking advantage of Time’s presence. “Tick,” roared the Clock. The Clock was not mocking me, nor was it attacking me. Instead, it was reminding me of what I could do with Time. It was then and there that I realized that instead of hoping for Time to fly by, I should hope for it to (forgive the pun), “take its sweet time.” And yet, I still think to myself: Will somebody shut up that damn Clock?

David Dominguez

Suffering

It is the thumping in my head

It is the droop in my eyes

It is the ringing in my ears

It is the flare in my nose

It is the distaste in my mouth

It is the stiffness in my neck

It is the throb in my chest