We improvised, and improvisation had its crisis : it got stuck.
We improvised, and the proceedings of improvisation bugged : we remained there, and here is our music.
We improvised, and what is supposed to happen in the suspense of the memory, the suspense of the project, the suspense of that which the fluctuating time of improvisation leans against, the simple suspense, collapsed.
It collapsed and we fixed ourselves in the remains of this collapse, we froze the state of things and we dove in this position as we necessarily dive in one point of the water’s surface.
We held on.