If I live...

If I live to be 80, I will have lived roughly 16% of the time during which codified classical music has existed (starting around 1550).  My mind was blown when I realized that.  16% is a pretty large percentage, if you think about it.  So much has changed in such a short amount of time, and it makes me reflect on how quickly things are evolving at this very moment, and the importance of what is occurring musically.

The other day I said to a friend that I believed we were in the midst of a modern Renaissance.  Those are pretty big words, but I based that statement on the existence of current technology, which is (obviously) also evolving and progressing at an alarming rate.  The technology available has put music and a multitude of access channels at the fingertips of virtually everyone.  And everyone now has the ability to experiment at whim for a negligible amount of money and/or training.  Add to that, that art feeds on art.  The potential to find the most talent is now at its highest for all of these reasons, and more.

Am I happy about the saturation of the market?  I don't know.  Hadn't really thought about that.  I suppose I am... I like art, and I like when people get excited about it.  So in a way, technology is opening the doors for many people to be creative.

On the flip side, I've always been a fan of tactile creation, and I think technology has drawn people away from that.  For me, the sensation of touch is so expressive in itself, and it lets me feel the experience of creating physically.  Even when I write here, directly onto the computer, it's just getting words out.  I don't feel like it's really writing.  I miss the sound and scratch of the pen (I know exactly which pen, too.  Pilot Precise v5.  Yes, they can smear... just let it dry!) and the smell of the ink and paper.  I like the way the sheet feels on the side of my palm as I move my hand across the page.  I also like the way that my handwriting changes depending on my mood, or how furiously I need to get the words into physical form before they vaporize.  I like the slow spread of the ink pigments into the fibers of the paper when I linger on a punctuation, finalizing what is most likely a profoundly true, often brooding statement.  And I like that, if you look closely enough, the blot doesn't expand as a perfect circle, but follows an uneven nest of filaments.  I like the sound that my pen makes when I tap its cap on my notebook, in a rhythmic ponder to the next phrase.  I love all of that.  And you just don't get that when you type your thoughts directly into a machine.

You know what I hate?  The glow of the computer screen.  It gives me the same unrested feel I get when I'm in a small room (or even a big one, for that matter,) with cheap, fluorescent, hazy green, ceiling lights.  *shudder*  Computers are totally necessary, of course, and mine has served me well (though equally a time-suck).  But I'll always prefer to touch and smell my notebook.

What a rambling post...

Here we go, Day 199: https://ia600804.us.archive.org/35/items/Improv22912/20120229150715.mp3

Absence.

It breaks my heart a little, when I have to miss important moments in the lives of people I care about.  It's weird to feel my own absence in a time place I never was.  That may be incredibly narcissistic to say, and probably no one else notices.  But in the right moments, I feel it heavily.

Yet... despite that twinge of suffering in missing, I send giant, happy heaps (overwhelming, even) of celebratory excitement and energy as much as I can.  I only hope it can be felt over such great distances.

And if there's the other thing, a moment of dark, I miss being there for that honor, too.  For truly, if someone can share their dark with you, it really is a privilege.

Here we go, Day 198: https://ia700808.us.archive.org/12/items/Improv22812/20120228213426.mp3

ROAR!

Today I said one of the smartest, most intuitive things I've ever said.

Rhythm creates expectation.

I mean, duh.  How I did not put this into words earlier is a complete mystery, because it's something that's been on the tip of my brain for a long time.  I wish I were better musically with rhythm.  I'm not as good as I want to be.  I can dance with an insane and accurate rhythm to melt concrete, but for whatever reason, when it comes to making music, I get overly wrapped up in agogics.  It's very frustrating, because I often feel it all working in the moment, but it never seems to translate that well when I listen back.

Anyway, teaching is so simultaneously mundane and fascinating.  If you pay attention, things like the above will just slip from your lips at the most unexpected moments.  That particular phrase fell out to an eight year old who was playing a piece called, "Tiger Stalking."  I explained to him that there was no way anyone was going to be surprised if he played the ROAR! cluster after a series of arhythmic nonsense.  They're not set up to expect anything in time, and if there is no expectation, then there's no suspense.  Then I played it for him in rhythm, and even though he knew exactly what was coming, I still managed to get a genuine gasp and jump after a carefully timed fermata.  So even if he forgets that "rhythm creates expectation," which I doubt he will, after our lengthy experimentation and laborious counting, I will not forget it.  I needed the reminder probably more than he did.

Go on ahead, now.  Apply that to life.  Because, of course, like almost all of this other dribble, this too can be considered a metaphor.

Here we go, Day 197: https://ia600808.us.archive.org/2/items/Improv22712/20120227152734.mp3

Serendipity.

One of the most amazing feelings is improvising with someone, and, without a word or look, you've fallen into perfect sync and every breath of expression is from your singularly shared body.  At those moments, everything locks in, and the metaphysical world becomes as easy to understand as 2+2.  But it usually doesn't last long.  Usually, those moments pass as quickly as they come.  If you're lucky, you can ride them out through the end of a piece.  If you're really lucky, 'til the end of the program.  If you're really, REALLY lucky, you get your magic just about every time you play with that someone.  Your extra bonus is if you find it with someone you've never improvised with before.

Let me clarify, also, that this feeling of improvisation is not limited to music.  The sentiment extends well into every day life.

For example, you're on a crowded train.  You see something very subtly hilarious happen right in front of you (I wish I could think of a specific example).  No one seems to notice, except you look across and make eye contact with a complete stranger that has seen the exact same thing.  Quick pause = moment of realization. Then you both burst into laughter.

That's just a little thing; the unexpected caramel chew that your friend produces from their pocket on a walk to the park.  Even so, don't you feel a pulse of dopamine when it happens?

Anyway, the improvisations in life are many, but the shared improvisations are the ones that satisfy.  Someone to share the miracle with.  And here's what's really interesting: as momentary as the example I gave, there are improvs equally lengthy.  That go here, go there, go where... and from the inside it looks nebulous, but if you're clever and curious, you get to see what serendipity is all about.

Here we go, Day 196: https://ia700809.us.archive.org/23/items/Improv22612/20120226190641.mp3

Hype.

Hype is hype.

I may have eaten an octopus alive tonight, wriggling tentacles and all, but that doesn't forgive the overcooked shellfish, and scarily unsafe oysters that sidelined the evening.

Some things are worth it.  Other things are not.  Despite an overall rating of D+, I'm still glad I went for it.  I mean, really, how often do you get live octopus?  That portion was completely delectable.  Will I go back?  Probably not.  Will I tell tales about suctions sucking at my cheeks?  Most likely, yes.  And, well...

... now I know.

Here we go, Day 195: https://ia700803.us.archive.org/19/items/Improv22512/20120225172339.mp3

Taxi.

Get in a cab.

Cabby says, "How is your life?  Tell me everything!"

I'm a little dumbstruck.  I usually just get in, and watch out the window.  I don't know what to say.

"Everything is great!  Life is pretty great!  I feel really blessed to have had all the experiences that I've had."

"Yes, life is great.  I am so blessed, too."

I don't tell him anything I know about Bangladesh.  He volunteers a story about a passenger opening the door into traffic last night, rendering a $1000 repair bill.

I don't really feel like chatting it up, but I want to share a conversation with him, because I'm sure he's had a long, lonely night.  And it can't be easy... transients passing in and out of his taxi for twelve hours straight.  Being surrounded by strangers all the time is the loneliest feeling in the world.  I can stand it for a while, but after a few weeks, I start to get homesick.  And not even for a place that I call home, but for people I call home.

So that being said, even though I pretty much feel like New York is home now, I'm still homesick all the time.  Sometimes, I'll even be sitting right next to you, and everything is normal, and calm, and easy.  And if I think about it for just a moment and pay attention, I'll be homesick for you.  I don't really know what that feeling is called.  I wrote about something like it a few months ago: saudade.  Maybe that is it.  It's a weird feeling, because nothing is actually wrong, but for some reason, there's a twinge of sadness or melancholy.  I have some questions about this, but really, there's no reason to pose them here.  I guess the point I'm trying to make is that happiness and sadness are two sides of the same coin.  And I won't elaborate on it anymore, because my words just don't make sense.  For goodness sake, I didn't even drive home the story about the cabby.  And won't.

Here we go, Day 194: https://ia600802.us.archive.org/21/items/Improv22412/20120224200804.mp3

Just.

Listen.

To.

The.

Sounds.

The.

Time.

It.

Ticks.

And.

Real.

Happens.

And.

My.

Breaths.

Happen.

One.

By.

One.

Tick.

Tick.

Xhhhh.

Hhhhh.



Here.

We.

Go.

Day.

193.

https://ia700805.us.archive.org/32/items/Improv22312/20120223205225.mp3

Creation.

I had a whole thing started here about creation, and what it might be like to be God, looking down on his beloved little planet, seeing social evolution, being sad or wanting to interfere or maybe not wanting to.  But it's not really what I want to write about tonight, so I erased it all, and typed this up instead.  The point of what I was going to write about is how creations begin to take on lives of their own if they have some kind of soul to them.  And how there's only so much control one has over something living.  And even with infinite control, one wouldn't want to impose it, because controlling any outcome would be taking away any specialness that would unfurl naturally from the creation.  And the specialness is why one would love it.  Yikes.  I could go on, but I'm feeling a little knocked out.  I can't express what I've been thinking.

So I'll write about something else. 

Tomorrow, when I'm not so wiped.  I nearly fell asleep just listening to the improvs.

Left hand only.  Sarabande.

Here we go, 192: https://ia700808.us.archive.org/24/items/Improv22212_302/20120222212523.mp3

Gratitude.

My utmost gratitude to you who have given me opportunities to experience life in a boundless explosion of energy, understanding, love, strength, expression, and curiosity.  Living out the "what if" has been my fortune and privilege.  I wouldn't trade it for anything.  Far beyond any attempt to cover up any of those trails, wherever they've led, I'd rather secure a footprint to those places.  An etching into a tree trunk; outlined by a crude, but happy little heart.  And the purity and beauty and honesty in everything we've shared will not be forgotten.

Now.

Turning. the page...

Here we go, Day 191: https://ia600802.us.archive.org/4/items/Improv22112/20120221193827.mp3

Doom.

Doomed??? No.

It's all about perspective.

Hanging with a friend tonight.  He thinks he's in a bind.  And honestly, he is.  BUT... the important thing to remember is that there are always choices.  We think there aren't, because we've preconcluded what to expect from current situations.  That some options are not options.  But there they are.  Don't discount them.  I see my friend's doom as his opportunity.  Just a shadowy and unexpected avenue.

But sometimes...

... Sometimes those are the most interesting, most valuable avenues.

From what I can assess, and as a totally outside point of view, he's about to embark upon an unknown.  A push into his next greatness.  Somewhere he would not have gone without this scary thrust.

So.  Remember this.  The blessing of the bind.

Here we go, Day 190: https://ia700807.us.archive.org/14/items/Improv22012/20120220212608.mp3

Beautiful chaos.

Sit forward!  Stress out!  

...nah, just kidding.

Sit back... relax.  Enjoy the chaos while it lasts.

Here we go, Day 189: https://ia700802.us.archive.org/26/items/Improv421912/20120219211208.mp3

Harlem.

Today I heard a wonderful performance by the Harlem String Quartet.  I went to the show not knowing exactly what to expect, but I was pleasantly surprised (by that I mean surprised, and not surprised), far beyond my expectations, by an amazing program and stellar playing.  These guys gave me goosebumps, and made me remember how entertaining and amusing classical music can be.  So inspiring!

Many memories followed, bringing me back to the days I spent on 130th Street.  How perspective changes and calibrates from moment to moment.  And the associations we keep.  

Here we go, Day 188: http://ia600803.us.archive.org/20/items/Improv21812/20120218190244.m4a

Storytelling.

In conversation yesterday, I was reminded that as musicians, we are really storytellers.  And we must do what storytellers do in order to shape the images that we try to create.

Good reminder.

Here we go, Day 187: https://ia600800.us.archive.org/19/items/Improv21712/20120217215515.mp3

Animation.

Went to the IFC Center tonight to watch the Oscar Nominated Animated Shorts.  Amongst many delights, the book one was TERRIBLE.  If it wins, I will never believe anything that Hollywood ever tells me ever again.

Here we go, Day 186: https://ia700808.us.archive.org/17/items/Improv21612/20120216194837.mp3

Have; have not.

Another day.

Another truth.

Another conflict.

Seeking the resolution, not knowing the resolution, wanting and not wanting a resolution... that's what makes it all flow.  And that's what makes it great.

In the best of times, and the worst of times, that's what makes it.

Here we go, Day 185: https://ia600807.us.archive.org/3/items/Improv21512/20120215211107.mp3

Valentine.

The truth is, I never gave much clout to today's holiday.  Not since I was a kid.  And the best thing about it was just getting a bunch of little notes, many of them with pictures of Garfield and an unfunny pun in a thought bubble, from classmates paired with candy.  The candy was really what was fun.  And opening the envelopes.  What kid doesn't like getting "mail?"  And I seem to recall one Valentine's Day when I was sick, and my Dad brought me a pink, heart-shaped sugar cookie while I was sniffling under the covers, a down of used tissues engulfing my little head.  Now that I think of it, that was pretty great.  But it didn't have that much to do with any holiday.

I'm not down on Valentine's Day, I just don't live with a necessity to have a "special day" for love.  I know I'm not the only one.  And I suppose I understand why this holiday exists.  The sentiment is still very beautiful.  But I think I must be lucky... if I don't see a need, it's because I feel love all the time. 

So for today's improv... it started out as a lullaby, and transformed itself into a nocturne, I guess.  Pretty basic chord structure, almost completely tonal, a little stodgy.  Nothing groundbreaking here, but perhaps a good exercise in staying within a standard harmonic plan.

Here we go, Day 184: https://ia600804.us.archive.org/13/items/Improv21412/20120214202932.mp3

Asymmetry.

I may have mentioned before that I'm a bit "ruined" for improvisation by my classical roots.  When I sit down to play, I want everything to be a miracle.  Or at least I want it all to wrap up in a nice little package.  Which is so strange, because I tend to like things askew.  I've always liked the wonky smile, or the one eyelid closing a little more on that side only.  I especially like the single dimple.  And funny how I think scars are special. 

Sure, symmetry has its place.  And even has beauty.  But I find more balance in the imperfect.

So why can't I just let my stuff be?  I am frustrated by a lot of these improvs because they're not anything that I would ever showcase.  They're not well-constructed, and even I, the person who made them, can't make any sense from them.

And I wanna know... why am I not okay with that?  Why can't I just extract ideas from them, and consider them sketches?

Maybe I don't want to put sketches out in the world... and by my own promise, I must.  Maybe if I weren't putting these online, I'd be a lot more comfortable with them.  But if I weren't putting them online, I probably wouldn't be doing them so regularly.  Hmmm....

Here we go, Day 183: https://ia600806.us.archive.org/28/items/Improv21312/20120213212832.mp3

Rest: as a treasure.

Our bodies are machines.  It's fascinating to me how we need fuel, just like any working thing that we've built, to function.

Not just food, but sleep, too.  What is it?  What is happening to us when we go to that vulnerable place?

I had a dream the other night that I was improvising very well.  And I'm sure that I was actually hearing something that my mind had created in sleep.  Now... to reassemble it. 

Tomorrow: diagrams for dream-music extraction device.

Here we go, Day 182: https://ia601406.us.archive.org/13/items/Improv21212_543/20120212210806.mp3

Host.

Maybe it's a woman thing, that "want" to take care of people, make sure everyone is happy, enjoying themselves, thing.  I like to host, and I can't even help it at all.  Even at other peoples' homes.

It was a fun party, anyway, and the worst part of all was having to move to the neighborhood bar when the hour became late.  Not bad at all....

Here we go, Day 181: https://ia600802.us.archive.org/8/items/Improv21112/20120211181259.mp3

Mark it.

Do I want to know now, or when..., or then...?

I should have written down what I wanted to write about when I had thought about it....  Now it's just a blur.

And on this most momentous day, the six month Himalaya, nothing more than a trifle.

If you want to read something of substance, reread yesterday's post.  That was something.  Today is nada.

Here we go, Day 180: https://ia600800.us.archive.org/26/items/Improv2912/20120209215630.mp3

Fado.

Saw fado last night.  How I miss it so....  It's incredible how one can fall so deeply in love, and forget completely what was without.  I am not a drop Portuguese, and yet, fado finds something in me that was unearthed until I met it.  And now I am more myself because of it.  Silly, I know.

But there are things that we are searching for.  And we often don't know what they are.  We spend our lives scraping at glimpses of what we might catch, of what might satiate us, of some impossible answer.  And even up to our deaths we don't know what the things are that we seek, but we feel strongly the compulsion to want them, these otherworldly feelings.  And that's what they are, if you want to know.  We are hunting down feelings.  "Feelings" as a sensation, physically, psychologically, and emotionally.  We seek to experience the undefinable, uncommon feelings.  The ones that take us far, far away from ourselves, and simultaneously give us an acute magnification of what we call our soul.

The only word I know that comes close to what I'm attempting to describe is "catharsis."  But as far as I'm concerned, it's incomplete.  At least for me....  It's not necessarily a purging I'm looking for.  It's a knowledge.  Or an expression.  Or an understanding, perhaps.  Well, as I said, we don't know what it is exactly that we are searching for, and that includes me.

Anyway, I guess this is all coming about because of fado... which is sort of like my gold coin on the way to the treasure chest.  I don't only know myself better because of fado, but I know you better, too.

So today's improv: a recent perusal through world-music inspired classical pieces brought me back to this favorite Spanish tune that I've heard a lot in flamenco and in Albeniz's music.  I really do love it.  Anyway, I thought I'd grab it for the day.  The improv itself is a bit wayward and incomplete.

Here we go, Day 179: https://ia600800.us.archive.org/26/items/Improv2912/20120209215630.mp3

Caterwaul.

I almost didn't post tonight.  My internet went out, and upon calling the cable company, discovered that there was an outage in my area.  Act of God.  Nothing I could do about it.

On my way to bed, I saw that the lights on my modem were flashing again.  That's how dedicated I am.  Now, 3:10 am, I sit again at my monster information slab, and blog today's post.

So, I'm not a singer.  Never pretended to be one since the 8th grade (when I totally pretended to be one... I used to sing opera at the top of my lungs when I thought no one was home.  Carmen, La Boheme... famous arias, what have you... never with the actual words... just the melodies on la or some made up foreign words.  Once Dad unexpectedly floated down the stairs after I had been belting for about fifteen minutes, much to my adolescent embarrassment...)

Anyway, that being said, today my body needed to get some song out.  So, to either your curiosity, dismay, or delight, this is what is on the improv for today.  Words are improvised as well, so, sorry about all that.... :P

And there's real live caterwauling, too!

Here we go, Day 178: https://ia700806.us.archive.org/14/items/Improv2812/20120208151234.mp3

Creak.

It's so funny!  I hear that bench creak in EVERY single improv.  All of the ones from my apartment anyway.  It's the sound of me leaning over to press the on and off button.  Teehee!  It literally makes me laugh sometimes.  It's so very distinct to my ears now.  It is the sound of improv.

Also, how is it possible that Duane Reade has every heart-shaped novelty imaginable, but no heart stickers??  TRAVESTY!  My student has been requesting them ALL YEAR LONG.

Ah, the sticky heart.

Here we go, Day 177: https://ia600802.us.archive.org/12/items/Improv2712/20120207214755.mp3

Zombies.

Silly classical pianist!!  Why would I say such things as to exclude improvisors from any of the minutiae that classical musicians brood over?  That really wasn't my intention yesterday.  I think I was just a little overwhelmed with my web of thoughts.  It's really hard to conclude anything justly when you're not taking into account everything else, and when you take into account everything else, it's really hard not to be befuddled.

Okay.  Scratch everything from yesterday's post.  Probably, mostly: the improv itself.

And on to tonight's improv.  I'll take guesses as to what it's about.

Here we go, Day 176: https://ia700807.us.archive.org/2/items/Improv2612/20120206212657.mp3

Webs.

With not much care for football, I spent my Superbowl Sunday at a nearly empty jazz show in Brooklyn.  It kind of got me thinking, though, about training.  Maybe I've already covered this in one of my blog entries, but I'm sure that this improvised writing always flows in new directions, too.

So, Jesse's music is, for me, anyway, somewhere between improvised and composed from top to bottom.  And the parts that are influenced by classical are heavily so.  The reason I bring this up is because watching him play made me think of the way we train ourselves to play music.  I can't comment on how jazz players are trained, because I've never had any of that.  But I can say, from my years of experience as both a teacher and a student, that a lot of classical study is specifically to train muscle memory.

Now, this MUST be the case for jazz players to, in some ways.  I know that they go through scales and arpeggios and so forth as well.  But it makes me wonder if that is why I have had such a hard time getting comfortable with improvisation.  I'm having to trust my hands to play something that they've never touched before.

I remember once that I was trying to get my student to imagine a sound, and then try to make that sound.  Imagery is something I use a lot of with my students, because it's hard to describe a difference in vibration without attaching it to some kind of mood or feeling.  And, after all, why would you care if you made a color change if it didn't provoke something in us?  When her mom came in at the end of the lesson, I reviewed with her the lesson.  She said something like, "well, but how does that happen?  Doesn't it work the other way?"  Well, yeah.  To the listener.  But it's the artist's job to create that image to begin with.  If an image comes from a performance, it's not often just by chance.  I tried to explain that if a musician just works with the colors that happen to occur on their own, the palate becomes very limited... the imagination has to be engaged in order to expand beyond the possible.  I'm not sure she understood, and maybe I'm not even explaining it very well here.

Anyway, all of this I bring up, because this is, I suppose, a classical person's way of thinking.  We develop ourselves to the point where even this, even a color change on a single note, is something that we will spend hours practicing.  So that instead of conjuring static, that one tone conjures despair, or pure joy, or whatever it is we want it to convey.  And that, too, becomes part of the muscle memory.  What is improvised for us could be just having to play on a different instrument.

Someone fill me in here.  I want to know, do improvisors practice getting different colors with the same note, same articulation, same dynamic?  Or are they creating these moods and feelings more with the pitches, harmonies, and flow?  I actually don't know the answer to this, although I do have my suspicions.

What improvisors refer to as "voicing" is basically how one will invert the chord.  But for a classical player, "voicing" is which note or notes in the chord you will bring out in sound and clarity above the other tones, but without changing the written chord.  This is somehow related to what I was talking about, but I'm not sure I can put it into words right now.  My brain is beginning to ooze.  And just like that, I am seeing a really strong connection between jazz voicing, and classical voicing.  The term refers to different things, but I wonder if the effect is somewhat similar.  Hmm.  Questions for later.


And so I guess what I'm getting at ultimately is just the way the brain has to completely shift gears between improvised music and composed music.  This is something I understood when I began this project nearly six months ago, but I must be beginning to understand more thoroughly why this difference exists.  Or maybe I've just completely turned myself around.

Webs upon webs of questions and answers.

Here we go, Day 175: https://ia600802.us.archive.org/33/items/Improv2512/20120205201815.mp3

Fingerprint.

Hmmm.... I think anything I might try to write now might be an effort better spent tomorrow.

Many .loves

Here we go, Day 174: https://ia802604.us.archive.org/34/items/Improv2412/20120204141213.mp3

Moxie.

I was at once soured and flattered when I had heard secondhand my dad's remark about a friend of mine, years ago.

"I like him.  He's the only one who's got enough moxie to handle Mary."

Ahem... handle?

And yes, that's right.  One would need a lot.

Sorry to disappoint dad, but things did not go in that direction.  Much to my mother's delight.  She did not find his charm quite as amusing.

Here we go, Day 173: https://ia600809.us.archive.org/33/items/Improv2312/20120203210939.mp3

Catch.

It's difficult to assess in the moment.

Sometimes, I try to do this.

If I've recorded it, I've at least got a comparison for the time that's passed.

If I haven't, I don't.

If I don't, that leaves me with instinct.

And what I've recorded and compared can give me a clearer assessment of my instinct, which is sometimes right on, and at other moments, tainted by years of analysis.  Which comes only by analyzing my instinct.

What I'm left with is completely subjective.

What's good?  What's bad?

And if you stand back, and ask, "What is going to be good?" your result might not be the same as, "What is good now?"  By the same token, "What is going to be bad?" might not be the same as, "What is bad now?"

Because time is a tricky chemical. 

And we're all completely aware of it, whether we acknowledge it or not.

And philosophy is quite an inadequate antidote. 

Here we go, Day 172: https://ia700807.us.archive.org/4/items/Improv2212/20120202194134.mp3

and... I must put my chorale, too.  It's just so much more befitting.  Day 172, Part 2: https://ia600809.us.archive.org/35/items/Improv22212/20120202195129.mp3

Soul surface.

I had dreams about brioche last night.  Isn't that weird?  I must've been hungry.

So I pulled this poem out just for kicks, and placed it ever so lovingly on my music stand, to see if it might inspire something for today's improv.  It's by my friend, Wendell Smith.

Soul Surface


We are eddies in an oil slick
on a surface we call time
and poetry
one way of being we
until the surface swirls
and the body
of a bird unfurls.

Here we go, Day 171: https://ia600801.us.archive.org/24/items/Improv2112/20120201203515.mp3