Everyday
I begin a new day, a virgin and impervious day.
Clean hands. Fresh start.
Square one.
And I call these days-
With the frustration and back-tracking ataxia of a child
Lost in the supermarket-
Clean-slate days.
I return on these days
To the beaten path which will chaperon me
In a step-motherly, coquettishly way toward the becoming
Concert of a masterpiece.
And I (re)claim: I am in existence now!
Always with one foot in the door,
I go about making the bed I sleep in, singing to myself
Under the flow of the shower, lighting
An incense in ceremony.
I vow: no more mistakes, even to learn from!
And every moment I make that mistake
Or cave in
To watching another unsavory pornography, I ask:
Why am I the quintessence of irony?
The hardship of clean-slate days is
Not the question: “How did I get so dirty?”
But: Why
Can’t I get clean just as quickly?
ETA was bred in Tustin, CA to Vietnam War fugees. He earned a Bachelor of Arts in Communication from the University of Southern California after being refused admission to the Cinematic Arts program. As a filmmaker, his work often focuses on the occult, media representation of marginalized groups and post-millennial self-reflexivity. etawashere.com
© 2009, ETA
Halfway Down the Stairs 