subject, meet predicate

isn't it interesting how the first sentence shapes the rest of the thoughts streaming forth from it? this could also be said about any sentence, but the first one is the leap between your thoughts and matches'; that rough sandpapery scrape of the chin. a lot rides on the first sentence. as they say in art, the first brushstroke could have been anything, anywhere. the last brushstroke....that had to be exactly as it was, exactly where it was, to have made the painting into the completed picture that now exists after the fact. the freedom, apparently, gets chiseled away gradually somewhere in between.

this all depends on how cohesive one needs their work to be, though. if m were drafting a novel, instead of writing arbitrarily here, there would be a significant amount more weight placed on that skeletal system than this brief one. this could be made of balsa wood, for all anyone cared. patch it with a little glue and surely it will support an ornamental thought or three (tree). this architecture will not be subject to natural forces quite as strong as a larger piece of work - the keystone can be crude and misshapen here. but he is at least learning much from this, so as to hopefully strive toward a masterwork of masonry someday.

because when it comes down to it, this here is an exercise in fleshing things out. in letting thoughts play; in allowing them the room to bounce around and see what else they hit, and what else might strike them in return. it is a billowing, a bellows under his hands that should breathe these things into cognizance, into relation with the world physically....and also tease out essences spiritually, with a coaxing finger (somewhat like a cotton candy machine; an awareness dipped into the cyclone of the unseen, and emerging wound in something quite fantastical and savory. on that note, all things may be cocooned in their own spirits, waiting to curl around ethereal thought-objects). this is a firm handshake directed towards all existence, not just the parts which may reciprocate in like manner.

as such, there are an endless set of possibilities for first sentences, for jump-off points. it's dizzying, really....but this is also the charm of it. without reservation, something can be launched into, and simultaneously it is acknowledged that it must be worthwhile and that it has no more definite value than any other idea which might be pursued. it is a frozen moment, a roll of the dice in the same way that thoughts might be considered a gamble. there are periods, are how much time elapses between each one? always it is different - always this lends a unique characteristic to the rhythm of the explication, the exploration. there are paragraphs, and do they relate with one another? should they exist in the sequencing in which they are found by casual readers? can one say, with any certainty?

whereas a book is a pragmatic calculation, a constant and intentional blurring of 'x' and other factors, polynomially, this instead can be complete chaos and freedom. antimatter has no characters to conceal; no deus ex machina. or rather, all deus ex machina, depending upon how you look at it~ the first sentence....this thing is not a constriction. it does not squeeze his mind, ever-flaring, into an ever-funnelling-smallward corridor. instead it is a flowering, a chance color, stumbled upon, which tints everything after and before and makes them at least somewhat noteworthy. entertaining, enchanting? boring, ludicrous? completely up to you.