Improv 1, Week 14

My first Improv this week riff's Brigitte Byrd's piece, "A Brittle Day Passed By."

Despite his attempt at rewriting the opening scene her Georgian film
took a tragic welcome. She had almost reached the vanishing point
when he broke. And then there was a tremor in his chest and he pointed
at nothing to say there is something broken and she loved him. There.
Though thoroughly convincing it was his dramatic dialogue which
aroused the commotion in her lyricism. She stumbled on his architectural
syntax and held on to her ending. He indulged in peripheral sympathy.
His questions made it into the narrative. On the occasion a sensual allure
sparked their sexual uproar. There was a furtive glance at his eyes a
shifting of her hands on her thighs a conceptual prologue to. In other words
her show split into a new opening and there was a straightforward wait
in the adaptation of their domesticity. There is of course the bag…There
will always be the bag. After leaving this performance red as his guitar
they went on threading through the plot like under-written players.


I modified the language and imagery just a bit to give it more of a western feel. By doing this, I found that there is a sort of dual meaning within my improv: one of a motherly nature and one of a somewhat sexual nature. Byrd's piece has meaning embedded within the setting: romance/lust in a movie script. I also have a few meanings is embedded within my setting: Maternal, sexual, and mechanical embedded within a Texas-rodeo environment. I was very surprised and impressed by the piece that was the result as a whole:

Because he disposed of the residue her Texas rodeo blew a flat tire. She almost roped her baby when he leaked. And then blue tornados split his thighs and she waved at nothing to say ashy graces as she ripped him. Around. While entirely pretending to juggle her cynicism with the saddle, it was his rugburn that drew her out. She feasted on the pesticide of his erratic logic. He bathed her in the shambles of his Ford F1-50. Metallic buckles made her non-carcinogenic. In the instance of euphoria the vodka burned their noses. There was a snort of vengeance at his engine, revving to inject red and green wires of antifreeze into her womb. In other words, her gloves peeled into a new position and there was no hesitation in the transformation of their bucking bronco. There are also the jeans…There will always be the jeans. After drying up the left over milk blue as his hide they went on stealing ten gallon hats like Bonnie and Clyde.