Re: “In a way, it was destiny” (Zusak, 84.)
In a way, it was destiny… I had never really given much thought to how I was going to die, or even the idea of death itself. Why the sudden interest, I know not, but all I knew is that the first moment you realize that you have the power to kill someone is a scary feeling.
It all started the day I got my learners permit. I know, a weird place to begin such a tale but either way, this is the truth. My father and I walked out of the high school and he handed me the keys to our semi-brand new car. The glossy red finish was so alluring, I couldn’t stand it. I turned to see him smile as I opened the door.
“Now be careful,” counseled my father as he climbed into the passenger seat. “Now let’s take a time around the block just to see where you are in your driving skills. To see if these driver’s ed teachers know anything.”
I agreed and backed out of the parking space. I turned around and drove out the parking lot onto a fairly empty road. I looked left, then right, then left again and pulled out.
“Good job,” whispered my father, “I’m impressed. You were always so timid. It looks like you’ve become braver.”
I nodded and took a left when instructed. The highway was fairly clear and the speed limit was fifty, so I revved the engine and accelerated up. This car was a lot more powerful than the driver ed car! My eyes were wide with amusement, then the thought graced my ming:
“Kill your father…”
I froze. It wasn’t really a voice but more so the thought that if I wanted to I could simply turn the wheel slightly and probably kill us. I finished around the block and my father was slightly impressed.
“You did it better than I thought you would have,” he sang. “Of course, the key to being impressed is low expectations.”
“In a way that’s really reassuring,” I replied trying to get my mind on anything but that foreboding sense of power. I was scared. How could I hold a human life in my hand’s so delicately and gently. It was absurd to want such a thing. It’s not the power or the responsibility that frightened me, but the actually thought that I had thought was even more frightening.
In a way, I guess it was destiny. It’s not that I can control what comes into my mind, but I can ignore what I don’t want there…
(Author note: so what did you think? Please leave feed back in the comments. Criticism (positive), relation, and anything else will be accepted. Original prompt: http://afinemuse.wordpress.com/2008/05/21/the-book-thief-by-marcus-zusak/)
Matthias Oreklein’s Blog by Matthias Oreklein is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
The Leaves of Autumn
There is nothing more profound than the power of music; it is more universal than gravity, and one thousand times more unpredictable than nature herself. Unfortunately, it also invokes emotions. You see it is a dreadful thing to feel emotions. Why is it so necessary to have emotions anyway? Unfortunately, the human race that lived on the planet Earth, thought emotion is the most wonderful thing since sliced bread.
Unfortunately, these poor souls haven’t yet grasped the untidy consequences of fiddling with emotion, especially the musicians and artists. Many believe that with out emotions the universe would run very smoothly indeed, but the others, the few who believe in feelings disagree. They argue that it may run smoothly, but the whole idea is preposterously boring.
This story you are now reading is not about the argument about weather feeling is better than desensitization or not, or even about emotions in general, but arguably the most powerful of all, love. Yes the article you are now open to is about one of the most cliché subjects imaginable and how two adolescent musicians find themselves caught in not only the string of each others instruments but the strings of affection.
Our story opens in the new room of Sebastian Rennington. Little did he know that in his new home town, he would meet the violinist that would win his heart. Bastian stood in the large, white, nearly empty room with nothing but himself, the small bed he slept in last night, and the back pack full of sheet music. As he stood there he was grappling with a rather tedious emotion. Ever since he was old enough to push a key, he had not gone an entire day without playing one of his pianos, and now the fifteen year old accomplished pianist stood in a pianoless mansion while his pianos were being shipped up from his father’s old house.
Sighing, Bastian left the nearly empty bleak room and met his brother, Alexander, by one of Xander’s expensive cars. This one was a red mustang convertible with electric blue guitar frets on the sides. Xander said while Bastian climbed into the passenger seat, “Dad should be up with your pianos in about a week. That is if he can get away from his editor long enough.”
“Why can’t he just send them up?” asked Bastian cringing at the word piano.
“Your eclectic collection is too delicate for movers. Either you are dad has to be there to supervise the movement of them. I’m telling you, you should have chosen a more portable instrument to play other than pianos that weigh thousands of pounds.”
Xander drove onto the main road when Bastian remarked, with a slight smile, “And your electric guitars are less delicate than my pianos?”
Xander shook his head, turning into the school parking lot now. “Well in a way yes: they aren’t as difficult to tune, and they are definitely lighter. You know, you could have brought a keyboard if you were going to have piano withdrawal.”
“I didn’t think I was,” defended Bastian, “Also, Dad had them all pack with their nice foamy cushions before I could change my mind. They are deep somewhere in the moving van.”
“Well maybe the music department will have a piano,” thought Xander as he pulled into a space close the front. Bastian really hoped so.
They climbed out of the car, without opening the doors and headed off to the penitentiary called high school.
High school: a facility of supposedly necessary four year education that educates children fourteen to eighteen respectively. Bastian and his brother were unfortunately between those ages and unfortunately the human country of the United States holds a law stating that all children must have an education of some kind. Many believe that if no one felt anything, education would only last less than a year and the world would continue to run smoothly, unfortunately emotions cause such things as procrastination and laziness, which inevitably lead to a twelve year extension of schooling, four some it is even four years longer. What a waste of time?
Bastian was never good at coping with the emotions of others, which made it very hard for him to make friends. Even at his old school on the east coast, people only liked him because his father, Edward Rennington was a famous author and girls would use him to get close to his reasonably attractive older brother, there are prime examples of the emotions of lust ruining Sebastian’s life.
His father always told him that he should just be himself and friends would find him. Unfortunately Sebastian was a fifteen year old tall, lanky human with incredibly long fingers and big hands and an incredible aptitude for math and science while also retaining the ability to bring a grown man to tears with his pianos. Who would want to be friends with a weirdo like that?
Sebastian and Xander walked further apart than Bastian would have liked; in public Xander never acknowledged Bastian’s existence let alone that he was family. Xander was currently speed walking to the front office to sign in while Bastian took his sweet time playing the air piano hearing the notes perfectly in his head. He was aware of the odd looks the other students gave him. Idaho was inhospitable at best.
Bastian crossed the short distance left to the front office and stepped up to the counter. Xander had already come and gone.
“Sebastian Rennington,” he announced to the secretary in a monotone.
“You must be Alexander’s brother,” said the secretary more bouncy than Bastian thought was necessary. “Here’s your schedule,” she handed him a piece of paper with eight classes listed, “and sign this form saying you got here on time.” Sebastian signed the clipboard shoved in front of him, gave a week smile and left the office in search of his first class, band.
He opened the door to see a room full of kids already, even though first period didn’t start for a half hour. They were in the middle of playing a piece, and they seemed uninterrupted, so Bastian continued closing the door as lightly as possible. It only took them a few minutes to finish the piece. It was common marching band song; he’d played it many times before.
When the student conductor lowered her gloved hands, she and the teacher, Bastian glanced at his schedule, Mr. Baldwin, approached him.
“Can we help you?” asked the tall, skinny Mr. Baldwin.
“Yes, I signed up for band and I got it on my schedule—,” began Bastian.
“I was notified of you,” said Mr. Baldwin in a brisk voice, then in a softer voice, “You can be her during class for attendance purposes, and you are more than welcome to sit in on our early morning practice, but I’m afraid I can’t let you play until I or the drum major Elizabeth here has time to audition you.”
Bastian nodded, and replied, “There is no place I would rather be than were music is being played.”
He walked over to an empty seat in the corner and pulled out his note book of sheet music while Elizabeth raised her hands and shouted, “Take it from the top.”
Time passed by and the bell for first period rang and no one moved. They kept on playing through the bell. After they finished that piece, Mr. Baldwin came over to Bastian and said over his shoulder, “That’s pretty interesting.”
“What is?” asked Bastian. The band began playing a new piece as Mr. Baldwin pulled up another chair to sit by Bastian.
“The music you are writing down,” he replied. “How long did it take you to do that?” he asked while reaching out for the book.
Bastian flipped to the beginning of the piece, about four full pages, front and back. “I started a few days ago as My brother and I started on our move. I’m only about halfway done.” Mr. Baldwin remained silent as he flipped through the book, about three hundred pages of musical notation.
“Fascinating,” he whispered. “What instrument do you play?”
“Piano,” replied Bastian, “for about twelve years now.”
Mr. Baldwin’s eyes widened. “Is that he only instrument?”
“Yeah, I guess it’s not much for a marching band.”
“Come by during lunch,” replied Mr. Baldwin, “Everyone has different lunches so we can’t practice; instead any musician is welcome to play on our instruments then. Our piano may be out of tune, but I think it will work. Depending on how good you are, maybe I can fit you into a different music class.” Bastian nodded and Mr. Baldwin stood up to go critique the band’s last piece.
Bastian returned to the band room the moment the lunch bell rang, not even going to get lunch, all he could think about during math was the fact that the school did have a piano. As he walked through the door, he saw many of the band members he saw during class sitting on the risers eating lunch and chatting avidly. Some people were playing instruments, one girl was playing a violin quietly, and one boy was banging on a drum set. Another was playing the xylophone, and yet another was tapping out a bouncy song on a kettle drum.
Bastian’s eyes drifted across the room until his eyes beheld a relatively new tan upright on wheels sitting in a corner he couldn’t see earlier. He almost ran to the instrument. Sitting on the cold piano bench, he lifted the cover to reveal ebony and ivory keys with a matte finish. Touch the keys with shivering fingers, he straitened into the correct posture and spread his large hands.
The boy on the kettle drum had stopped playing to watch and mostly everyone had stopped talking except for the drummer and violinist.
He began to play a flowing composition he had written. It was his favorite. The room fell silent with the first note. The drummer stopped pounding, and the violinist stopped gliding. Sebastian Rennington was flying. With each crescendo he would sway with the music. He kept his eyes closed to enjoy the music. The sound of hammers on wires was sweeter than anything he’d heard in days, even if they were slightly out of tune.
By the time he finished his first piece, there were students from other classes in the room. They all clapped, including Mr. Baldwin. Without slowing down, Bastian reached for his composition book and opened it to his latest piece and started to play. He had trained himself not to get distracted by others.
This other piece was radically different from the first. Instead of inducing the same joyful emotion of the first, this second one expressed a sense of sadness, like moving away from your home, or having the leaves of autumn fall in their reds and oranges. That’s what Autumn Link thought as she listened to Sebastian Rennington play his music. She glanced at the violin in her lap and then back to Sebastian. Her eyes began to water. Sebastian continued to play, uninterrupted switching between songs effortlessly, improvising quite a bit. Eventually the kettle drummer and xylophonist started to play with him, and the drummer started to tap out a beat to accompany the piano but not over power it.
Bastian slipped into a more joyful, upbeat song, near the end of lunch, and the stopped when Mr. Baldwin put his hand on Bastian’s shoulder.
“Sebastian,” he addressed as he sat on the piano bench with him. “How would you feel if you were in as many music classes as possible?”
Bastian grinned ecstatically.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” chuckled Mr. Baldwin.
“Though I would like to keep my computer, science, and math classes,” added Bastian, “Oh and you can call my Bastian.”
“Okay,” chuckled Mr. Baldwin, “You can keep those, but I’ll get your schedule changed by tomorrow to include you in the orchestra and jazz band. You can stay in marching band, I think I have an idea.”
“That would be great!” shouted Bastian. Mr. Baldwin laughed and walked away. Standing behind him was the violinist.
“Hello,” she said in a soft voice, “I’m Autumn Link, and you are?”
“Sebastian Rennington,” he replied while playing a small jingle on the keys. They both chuckled. Autumn noticed his sparklingly white teeth and pure laugh, and the way his black hair flowed when his head moved. Bastian noticed her coiled copper hair bounce like springs and her bright blue eyes. Emotion causes distracting observations like that.
Autumn then recognized his name. “Are you the son of Edward—,”
“—Rennington?” finished Bastian, “That’s my father all right.” Normally he hated having people know him because of his father, but from her it didn’t seem that bad.
“I love his books. They are so good. When is the next— sorry,” she cut herself off, “You must hate it when people talk about him that way.”
Bastian nodded.
“That was very good playing, brilliant actually!” she complimented. Normally positive feed back like that didn’t affect him that much, but from her it made him blush. He finally noticed the violin she was holding in one hand and the bow in the other.
“Thank you,” Bastian stuttered, then regained some composure, “Do you play? I wasn’t really paying attention when I came in. I was too eager to play. I haven’t played in three days.”
“Actually,” she replied, “I do play, but I don’t want to. I mention to my mother at a young age that I wanted to play the violin and she put me into lessons and wouldn’t let me quit. It’s a beautiful instrument, don’t get me wrong,” she was sitting next to him now, her hair smelled of like apples, “I just want to play the electric guitar.” The words stirred something in Bastian.
“My brother could teach you,” replied Bastian, “He could even lend you a guitar, he has so many. Of course I’m not one to talk, I have twelve pianos.”
Her jaw dropped. “What?! Twelve!”
Bastian blushed, “Yes, every one is unique. I have one that is an upright curved into a circle, a grand curved into an inverted circle that I sit in the middle of to play, and then there is my favorite one.”
“Which one is that?” she asked, genuinely interested. “A triple decked glossy black grand with blue flames. The lower deck is regular piano strings, the middle deck is made of flat metal bells, and the top deck is an electric piano. Each deck plays the same amount of notes and has a wider range of octaves than a standard piano. It’s the most fun to play.”
Autumn was intrigued, “That’s amazing! Can I come over and see it some time?”
“Well, all of my pianos are back at my old house. My dad’s going to bring them over when he can get away from his editor.”
“Wait,” she demanded, while putting her violin away, “Your dad is going to live here?”
“Yes that is usually what happens when a family moves.”
“I wasn’t sure if your dad was on a book tour or something,” she defended. Just then the bell rang and she stood up from the bench and headed out the door. Sebastian’s eyes followed her out, and then he glanced back at the piano, reluctant to leave it. He played a quick parting ballad and jumped up and ran out of the room for advanced computer programming class.
At the end of the day, he came back to the band room to play more on the piano, but as he crossed the room to the instrument, he saw autumn preparing her violin. He immediately walked away from the piano, nothing had caused such a strong emotion in him to do that, and so tightens one of Autumns strings.
“Play me something?” asked Bastian as he approached. She shrugged and immediately lapsed into a rendition of the bumble bee. It was less classical and more something else. Sebastian couldn’t put his finger on it. It was more her own. Halfway through the song she slowed down into a different song and it only took a few bars to realize it was Bastian’s most recent piece. Her bow scratched, embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“No, no,” chuckled Bastian impressed at her playing by ear, “It was really good, keep playing.” He strode to the piano and started playing a simpler version of it. She joined him happily, adding her own flare to it. She was a very colorful violinist. Just like in a dance, Sebastian led her through everything, crescendo after crescendo, and set the tone for each section. When they got to the end of the finished version, she was looking over his shoulder at the sheet music, they just kept playing, in complete harmony changing the mood from sad to a more something more like relief and then to celebration.
They ended with a forte of complex notes and a loud bang. They didn’t realize how long they played and there were only two sets of clapping, one from Mr. Baldwin and one from Xander. They didn’t notice though, they were both breathing deeply from the effort of playing, they were staring into each other’s eyes understanding sweeping over them. Humans have an annoying ability of loving one another and making it work. It looked like these two weren’t any different.
Matthias Oreklein’s Blog by Matthias Oreklein is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Earth II
How did he ever get into this mess in the first place?! Being tale gated by a crazed time patrolling codon wasn’t what Cedric had in mind. Cedric frantically touched the controls to accelerate the craft, but it was in vain. The best way to truly understand Cedric’s predicament would be to travel back to the day this began: today, but earlier in the morning.
Cedric had always envied the time-space pilots and there ventures back in time to conduct experiments, unfortunately he never actually gotten to know exactly what they were doing. There were several rumors circulating around the offices that the temporanauts, as they were called, went back in time to change small random events that caused a blooming effect in another universe they could observe. Another was the notion that the temporanauts analyzed the past for the truth, such as the deep past for dinosaurs, or something as mundane as venturing back to prove a trial. Cedric believed the first more on the count that they could just use a time lens to look back in time.
There were rumors that they traveled forward in time, which according to the current laws of physics proved possible, but such a voyage was so dangerous that anyone who believed that was ruled off as a crack pot.
Cedric admired the gleaming, colorful, streamlined space-time crafts with their large circular hover disk wings, and their cleverly concealed temporal gyroscopes. In the olden days time flyers were actually cannon ball like crafts flung trough an orbital time ring far away from any life. The crafts had to be spherical and specially designed with geometric shapes that negated the crushing gravity forces. Technology had come along way in two decades.
Cedric pressed his face to the glass of the civilian viewing deck as he watched the latest temporal launch. The large holographic count down outside the station clicked down rapidly. The craft was suspended in emptiness as its electric blue hover disks began to whir. This ship leaned forward as its gravity bending technology warmed up. A horizontal array of blue lights illuminated on its sides and grew brighter until the rift generator was charged. The crowd held its breath, then gasped as two high power lasers beamed from the tops and bottoms of the hover disks. The lasers began to bend into unbroken loops of light bent and controlled by the immense gravitational forces. The loops began to rotate and spin until it looked like the whole craft was encased in a sphere of light. Triangles of light began to spread and move across the surface of the sphere and once they aligned, the whole sphere went dark like a television set being switched off.
Cedric smiled. If he was going to have his fifteen minutes in space time, he had to take it… now.
Cedric lifted his bag and headed for the tour leaving for the holding station of the time flyers.
“Contrary to popular belief,” began to the tour guide in her nasally drawl, “The Temporanauts are to travel back in time to only observe the past. All time flyers are equipped with specialized cloaking technology beyond anything detectable. They literally bend light and radiation around them. More over the Temporanauts actually have specially designed suites that serve the same purpose but enhances it even more by giving them intangibility, literally, walking through walls if they so choose.
“That is their main mission, though there have been twelve documented missions to change past events and observe possible futures created in parallel universes. The time lenses are used to ensure the mission is carried out as planned. One famous alteration mission, as they are called, was to see what would happen if Adolph Hitler was never born, the finding of which are held classified and are still being analyzed.
“Despite the voyages in the past, there have been only two documented voyages to the future,” she put an unusual inflection on the word ‘documented.’ ”One that is still continuing because the flyer that was sent lost it’s time travel capabilities but we are still in contact with it. The other was a successful deep future unmanned voyage to visit the geologic outcome of the earth.
“We currently have eleven thousand unmanned time probes mapping a complete lexicon of earth DNA, from it we have been able to cure cancer and rid the human race of almost all ailments as well as develop better, stronger, genetically base materials and foods specifically designed for non-temporal space colonization.”
Cedric raised his hand, “Is there any way that a civilian could pilot a time flyer? Or are there any plans for the commercialization of the time stream?” She looked like she was about to laugh at him.
“I’m afraid not,” she replied, almost mockingly. “Time is too fragile to allow commercialization and there are specific requirements to be a Temporanaut, of which must be genetically engineered. You have to be born a time traveler.”
Cedric looked down sadly. It was time, he thought. He had to know what it was like to fly through time. Discretely, he broke away from the group, there weren’t many people around. He was surprised how easy it was to escape. He wove his way around the time flyers until he found a small, one manned time skid. The cockpit was opened so he climbed in.
The ship opened from the bottom and once he was seated, the floor closed from beneath him. The interior was made up of a comfortable seat, three touch-control panels (one to either side and then a larger one just over his lap) all in easy reach, and a wind shield. It was pretty simple. Luckily Cedric had flown space freighters before they were replaced by portals. It seemed nowadays that everything worked through a portal. The time flyers were the only vehicles left. The controls didn’t seem that alien. He at least knew how to activate it.
Placing both hand on the side panels he waited for them to read. It happened instantly. The panels began to glow blue and interface code whirred across the surface of the main panel. The system was sensing danger; the code didn’t appear that friendly. Cedric knew he would have to hack it. Pulling out his panel computer he placed it on to the main panel and glided his fingers across it in the freezing gesture. Almost immediately the system locked up.
Cedric reached for the side panels to reprogram the system when it started up again. “Hello Cedric,” it said, “I’ve been waiting for you to come.” The chair suddenly sprang to life, suctioning him in. A gel began to secrete from the back to the chair and ooze through his clothes. “Don’t worry,” said the friendly computer voice, “It’s just your time suit, and you can’t travel without it. The gel began to cover his whole body; it was cool and nice to the touch. It wrapped around his front then over his shoulders and then down his arms. It covered his hands in white, and then continued down his legs and then ending at his feet. Once he was completely covered, the gel began to solidify into a clothe-like material, consuming his original clothes in the process. When the transformation was over he was cloaked in a full body, form fitting white and blue striped suit.
“Are you ready to go?” asked the system.
Cedric removed his panel computer and there on the main touch panel was a woman’s face.
“Can I know your name?” he asked fascinated.
“Cassiopeia, but you can call me Cassi.”
“Okay,” replied Cedric, genuinely impressed. He knew that Artificial Intelligence was possible but he didn’t expect one to be built into a time flyer. He only knew of two in existence. “Let’s go Cassi.” He had forgotten all about being caught.
“You’re the pilot,” she replied.
Cedric smiled as he positioned his fingers onto the side panels and began to slide his fingers in piloting gestures. The hover disks began to whir by his sides and the ship quietly lifted off the floor of the docking station.
“Enemy detected,” buzzed Cassi, and a rear image of a robotic time flyer was on his tail. “Fly!”
“Gladly,” replied Cedric. Half smiling, he thrust his hands forward on the panels and the ship shot forward. Gliding out the docking station, the robot followed.
“You need to jump to the Time-way,” announced Cassi.
“The what?”
“The Time-way, a temporal highway that will be constructed sometime in the future to accommodate time travelers. Just to let you know, it will be commercially funded.”
Cedric smiled, but then asked, “How do I get there?” A command appeared below Cassi’s face. It read, “Auto pilot.” Cedric frantically touched it.
“Here we go!” sang Cassiopeia. “Restraining pilot.” The chair once again sucked him back in. Cassi immediately sent them into a barrel roll. Spinning and spinning, projecting the time lasers in front and behind them. The lasers began to spiral and twist until the ship was wrapped in a spinning cocoon of light. Then blinking out like a light bulb, the time skid was gone from the time period.
The next thing Cedric knew was the large vast blue tube of space time the skid was now traveling through. The seat relaxed to allow him to see clearer. Surrounding the skid were hundreds of temporal vehicles each carrying human or close to human beings. “The ones that don’t look human were once, but have genetically been altered either on purpose or by time, but we are all related.”
“What do you mean we?” asked Cedric.
She seemed to be puzzled, then laughed. “You think I’m an artificial intelligence? No, I am a woman from the future. Well not exactly from the future. There will be a large group of humans, about on half of the population, who will separate from the time puritans; the ones who believe time should just be observed. There will be a war over it. Then the time travelers, the ones who actually use the time technology as it is supposed to be used will go and create a new culture and race located in the time and space between time and space.
“I intercepted this craft because we monitored you, and much other potential we were to rescue form the tyranny of your time. Here in the time between times, all things happen at once, but move at a continual pace. It is a little difficult to understand at first but you’ll get it soon. Did you know that the tour guide mentioned a failed voyage to the future? Their ship didn’t loose its temporal abilities, but instead the crew mates were brought here after their mission was complete. And as a matter of fact, your time still has contact with us.”
“Amazing,” whispered Cedric.
“Look up;” replied Cassiopeia, “You are going to want to see this.” There was a large amount of ships departing the time way into the space between, simply by navigating out of the tube. Cassi descended the vessel until it crossed out of the Time-way and sprawled out below him; Cedric saw a massive floating complex made of huge rotating rings. “This is Earth II, head quarters of the Tempo Sapiens as we call ourselves.”
Matthias Oreklein’s Blog by Matthias Oreklein is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
A brief explanation
June 1, 2008 at 5:06 am (Commentary) (500, books, explanation, exposure, facebook, famous, five hundred subscribers, group, help, laziness, lazy, Matthias, myspace, Oreklein, project, reading, summer project, writing)
Hello, welcome to my blog. The purpose of which is this: Normally during the summer I get incredibly bored and lazy, but not this summer, this summer I am going to do something, and with my new computer I will write everyday and post as much as possible to the internet.
I also plan to read as much as possible during the summer. I have to read ten (10) new books and 5 that I’ve read before. I also created a group on facebook called, “Matt’s Summer Project Support Group.” If you like my blog, please go join that group. If you like myspace if you can rally 25 people together and petition me for a myspace group, I will make one.
Now about my blogging goals. By the end of the summer if I have a total of five hundred (500) people in my group(s) then I will do something amazing for all of you! I also plan to have at least fifty (50) entries on this blog.
How you can help: EXPOSE ME! Now I know I seem bland now, but this is all technical. I swear I am one of the weirdest people on the internet and I have a feeling you will love me. Now I need the exposure so spread the word! Matthias Oreklein is going to be famous!!
Oh! Also, I’m going to be posting my work for critique. So if you want to help, please discuss my posts in the comments!
Matthias Oreklein’s Blog by Matthias Oreklein is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
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