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A contrast between my last entry's spiel about my parents' incessant scheduling is their pseudo-*spontaneity*. I use that word very loosely is this context. They did schedule the call to my Uncle for today, as it is his birthday, but did not set a specific time. I'll call this *spontaneity within constraints*. When they just finished their morning duties (ie, routines), nothing was left. Therefore, the time to call my Uncle had come. This is *spontaneity within constraints*.
I was summoned. I refused. Luckily, they are not as petulent as they were in my formative years, and my mother took it with a grain of sorghum. I'll call my Uncle later and chat with him for a while. Birthday or no birthday, he was a big element in my young life, surely shaping me.
As long as my parents live, I'll not be able to forget birthdays. Their whole life revolves around scheduling. And yeah, it's more than just my mother's cukrovka.
Someone fucked up at some point in human history and invented scheduling. Oh, yes, it was a gradual process. Meetings at sunup. Dinners at sundown. That sort of thing. Somehow it became birthdays, SCRUM and bi-annual dentist trips. I'd enjoy not knowing when it was. I do my best in times of spiralling downwards, actually, though most likely I have other intentions. I smash my clock. I draw the draperies. I exist in a cave where the so-called fourth dimension is static.
I came across this in the book *Blink*:
One of the most imporant of the rules that make improv possible, for example,
is the idea of agreement, the notion that a very simple way to create a story
(or humor) is to have characters accept everything that happens to them.
This nails the crux of why Christián[1] and my *spontaneous* conversations are successful. I use the word *success* here in a specific context. That is, the conversations, duologues, make us immensely happy. Or content? Well, we laugh heartily at our own absurdities, in any case.
I've had this sort of repartee with other people and it is always a highlight of the era. I recall phone calls from Austin to Acy in, er, Euless and talking about the amount of *evil* in the atmosphere (light, that is). These conversations were respite. The daily grind was always sandpaper to my soul.
There's another word: *daily*. Everything revolves around scheduling.
Improv is a way out of time for a *time*. (Heh.) There is no compositional set. The rules are implicit. No lead sheet sits in front of Christián or me when we begin our brilliant babbling. Reaction is the only key, and yes, as Señor Gladwell states, our ability to accept.
Another tangential concept: Positivity allows continuation. Negativity promotes blockage. This simple lesson need be taught early on.
Placing improv in the context of composition is stranger to me. The pieces I am creating now in the context of *Flavigula* are semi-composed. I look at the composed portions as templates. They are the implicit rules. The remainder wanders around within their bounds.
In a sense, it is *spontaneity within constraints*.
I'm using the term *improv* loosely, as well. I'm a loose guy. I do have a problem with the following *refinement*, however. I'm never sure whether to do it at all. Should each creation stand as it is when birthed? I think of the melody from yesterday. Let's take a look at the *finished* product. (I use the term *finished* loosely here).
The revision sits before you. Originally, the last four bits ended differently. I am only happy with one change. The final resolved too neatly and the tritone now fixes that. Of course, the piece may well spiral into a vortex of dissonance immediately afterwards, anyhow.
Deliberate composition creates an environment difficult for amorphous structure. I use the term *structure* loosely here. I have to get used to these absolute words as being softer. Structure is an axis between chaos and rigidity, methinks. As one travels from the former to the latter, the *template* hardens. The area for exploration becomes more fixed.
I only want to have vague ideas of where the current piece may go. I'm happy with last night's realization that the current melody comes and proceeds too quickly. I'm contradicting myself claiming I am plotting a revision! Contradiction is important in *improv*, baby. Deal with it.
The slow, ambient beginning is desperate in its calmness. I cannot force the melody, which is too quick for my taste to enter immediately. The next step is a transitional melody. Christián will have fun singing this hovno. Well, if he actually chooses to do it in the end.
Finé.
1: http://christianmnewman.com/blog
@flavigula@sonomu.club
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![Convulsions Melody One [IMG]](https://flavigula.net/images/blog/20140121/melody_uno.jpg){kind=link}