The words in this Improv series are like the notes musicians play in musical improv. They are not about my summer vacation, they are not organized, necessarily. They are not in a straight line, they are not apologetic, they are not literary, neccessarily. They are not for the wealthy, or political, though they might be one and the same. They are not for the supposed righteous, they are not for those that think they are righteous. They are not the only way to say anything, they are not, neccessarily.
And you best believe the good fellow that wrote these words probably has a story to tell. Still, the words don’t have to say what you want to hear, they just are what they are. They are welcome to be what they will be. I’ve been writing them for years, but it seems like I could have a good time just putting the pieces together. These pieces move fast, they don’t suffer a lot of pause. They talk about everything at once. They are not terribly thematic individually, but varied in topic, and subject. What subject? You’ll figure it out.
You’ll understand as much, or little as you will. You’ll tell your friend, “Can you believe he said that?” But so much for the negative. Sometimes the words fall on you like rain, or blow around like leaves in the street, or gather like clouds in the sky, or move like a line of ants on the ground, or simmer in a pot like beans in a restaurant, or huddle like the ladies on a team, or assemble like children on a playground, or cluster like a bunch of flowers, or group like a crowd of well wishers, or hang out like a hoard of hippies burning it down, or round up like a herd of cattle, or swarm like a hive of bees, or grate like the sands between your toes, or ascend like balloons at a festival, or not.
They don’t have to make sense in a literal way like the manual for your cellphone, or the pamphlet on venereal disease. They are not required to be readable. They are not necessary to understand the story line. They just are using the tools and techniques I have taught myself to inflict maximum interest on an audience of my choosing. Sounds preconceived. That may be actionable, and certainly entertaining. Good.
They are suggestive, they are emotive, they don’t have to have a thing to do with what the front row is talking about over what you say. They are free to be whatever they want, whatever you want. The audience is a very big part of Improv, so I guess their conversation is part of the show.
New perspectives, a new pair of shoes, a novel idea whose time has come. Sometimes the words come in backwards, or upside down, like gibberish, like garbage. Like something not together, like something confused. But read between the lines. But hear them for what they say. The hints are everywhere, the hints are off the cuff, the hints are on the back of a box of cereal, the hints are hints because they have something to hide, maybe a surprise in every box.
But you’ll figure it out, sooner, or later. Sometimes they come in on top of one another, sometimes they don’t come in at all. Like water that won’t be constrained, or constricted, the words can’t be held for long before the embankment that pretends to hold them springs a leak. Rest assured, when the dam is long forgotten the words, like the water, will still be there. But you get my drift.