This was my first batch of improv piano. I’d stopped being able to read music a long time ago, but still loved to be able to play. The dexterity was still there, and every time I passed the piano in my grandfather’s dusty, old basement, all I wanted to do was play. Sometimes, I’d get close enough to tap a few keys and feel them vibrate. The first time I sat down, I knew that, even if I couldn’t read music, I knew I could still play, and should at least continue to better my dexterity, sound, and music. As this is my first batch of improv piano, it might be terrible, but that’s what’s important about following and living the journey. These improv pieces started growing after my last time in the hospital, which was over two years ago. I hope you join me in my personal growth as I share these bits of piano vomit, which happen about just as my poetry, but with dissonant sounds instead.