Fiction. From THE BOOK OF "In every a room, but could I describe it, ride around its edges, never quite pushing through the perimeter wherein we spent so many fucking afternoons. Terrible picture of all the words waiting relentlessly outside. What after all is the activity of telling beyond the fate of act? A feeling as if I had only heard about the teeming presence of my own life. And is your fucking a telling? Everywhere wandered around in here while we were doing it. But we hardly noticed, we were too palmed into our past decide. Will you tell me about it while we are doing it? Will you find yourself able to tell what we were doing while we are doing a thing similar? Can you relate to me.. Will you say everything you can recall from it, the act of saying of a fucking previous in a fucking present? And then you put your..and I lifted my...And then I came, and then you came, and then will we come? Or are these only as thoughts of a room, its light and walls?"
Coolidge attended Brown University, where his father taught in the music department. After moving to New York City in the early 1960s, Coolidge cultivated links with Ted Berrigan and Bernadette Mayer. Often associated with the Language School his experience as a jazz drummer and interest in a wide array of subjects including caves, geology, bebop, weather, Salvador Dalí, Jack Kerouac and movies, Coolidge often finds correspondence in his work. Coolidge grew up in Providence, Rhode Island and has lived, among other places, in Manhattan, Cambridge (MA), San Francisco, Rome (Italy), and the Berkshire Hills. He currently lives in Petaluma, California.