The Coincidental Hour

MICK FUCK CHAINSAW JAGGED

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I used to be a better writer. Or maybe this is just what writers tend to say when they get older. But I can at least say with certainty that it has become increasingly hard for me to confidently write with well-crafted nonsense. For years I’ve been trying return to the good raw form when I was in my early 20’s. With age comes different pressures that can bend the words towards a receivable signal; the appetite for narrative tends to grow stronger, and bad words can build like plaque, lining the tongue with a facebook-friendly vocabulary.
I found an old piece I wrote in 1999, just a page full of words interrupted by a random transformation of the words MICK JAGGER. Simple really, just some found text, some typewriter play, and then a blast of variations of MICK JAGGER. It was like noise writing, visual poetry or whatever you want to call it. Back then I didn’t care what it was called, but then school happened. So hard to unlearn school.
I think what I do with Coincidental Hour has been an attempt at returning to an idiosyncratic rawness, an indescribability with grace. It’s an application intended to remove the fear and the bad words. And the Coincidental Hour has grown increasingly chaotic and unstructured over the past 5 years and I want to actually push it further into the unhinged. This is what I have in mind as I start booking a couple short tours over the next few months. A fasting from quotidian concerns and an attempt at stripping down to nothing. Futile perhaps, but hopefully entertaining at the very least.
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