SpinyCokie

Not a singular movement in graduation is wasted, everyway the icon can twist or turn is fully utilized to produce the effect most fitting to the song it uses, playing the level itself feels like deconstructing a difficult abstract work and understanding the cohesion behind all the pieces that make the entire level function. Every gravity change, game mode switch, off grid block placement works to visually tie the level back to its song with startling precision.

A personal favorite is how he uses invisible toggle orbs to produce a sort of visual aid to the layered reverberation felt in the song, so slight yet so well done.

Another part of graduation I very much enjoy is the general movement of the layout. It stays consistent, taking a direction to move the icon as far up or far down as possible within camera view extending the sense of motion felt throughout.

the way the ball’s dash is offset so perfectly to the tune of the song here is genuinely so genius and the fact that the entrance to it presents the block as unviewable due to the placement of the player at just the right height to only truly view its effect once engaged with the dash orb just adds to it.

Another bit of skralen styling that I love is what I call the “shorthand dash” whereby as dash is cut off early by an s block. In this part its used to represent the the short kick in the song.

in this part and a few others later, the shorthand dash is used to manipulate how further the player’s icon will rotate as it’s left to fall

Every arc like movement the ship can produce is used to its fullest effect in the layout, taking this as an example and the ending part where the ship's ascension upward, interrupted by a slope then ball portal, into the cube and then back into a ship whose X-axis is directed by two jutting blocks holding the icon in place and restricting its free circular motion and contrasting it with the previous almost free-move parts of the level beautifully.

Graduation's movement follows a formula defined, if not actively then passively, by skralen's gameplay type ; free flow, harsh interruption , followed by free flow, there after a modified interruption created to specifically extend that flow. All of this prioritizing the icon's movements and mechanics of the game to create what I believe, is the best layout in this game.

by Alex Pefagram

I love Music, and that is Love with a  capital  “elll”. I Love the sweet, mad ,sour, fast, diddles you’ve elected my ear. I Love Ms.Music

                I wrote to Ms.Music. I said, “ Ms. Music, I love you,” and I felt that queasy melting feeling all those writers wrote about. Love, Love, Love, I just said I love someone. It was gross, I was gross. A gross, disgusting lair that ran on Ms.Music’s genuine contentment and played with it. All for that nonsense bawl-‘o-the-heart.

                I talked to Ms.Music. In Truth I know not where she lives but I’ve talked to her. I told her about myself, my wants, my fears ( this is a lie ) and my jokes. Ms.Music did the same ( this is a lie ) so we confided in each other for solace, for peace.

                I said, “I Love you Ms.Music,” and she said it back. I said it again and she said it back again. I said it again and she said it back again. I said it…there it was. That was it. My tongue, frostbitten – though not yet really – rolled almost automatically, I lied. I hadn’t felt a damn thing – or, I did. I did but hadn’t expressed it… express, expre…

                Ms.Music had her pains, she hid them from me. I would say,”Ms. Music, what bothers you?” and she dismissed me bluntly, ”It’s fine really,” she’d said—or, I think that is what she said. My memory can be fuzzy ( am I telling the truth here? )

                Ms.Music confided her complicated worries in me and I did my best ( I am lying; I did not. I brushed her off, and not in the brusque and obvious way; but with faux-reassurance, with lying bantertalk of defunct help. At times I flat out gave up. Why did I, why did I,why,why,why,why,why,why,why,why, why would I, why did I say, why ,god why, why, Ms. Music Sorry [ liar ], Ms.Music i- , ms..ms.,,miss) And she took my efforts with gratitude. But I think the music she sung me after strum my heart with joy.

                So I let her play. She was Music; she was the sweet, mad, sour, fast diddies in my eardrum, and I loved her ( I am being honest ), I loved her ( I am being honest ) I loved her music so much…(am I being honest…)

                Ms.Music was nice to me. Compliments and,,,

And as Ms.Music’s tears dribbled down her blue dress and stained her dry clothing, I turned up the white noise and danced harder. My limbs sretched, bent, spent and broken in hallucinatory bliss. Visceral whiplash eye movements taking all in, vomiting allout.Christ,God, kill me.  Why did hope leave me, iloved her so much.

                Ms.Music’s hobbies and mine aligned. We did the same things. Some she outdid me, others I surpassed her. I….God,why was I like that? She hated her perceived inferiority to me in it, why didn’t I comfort her, ;et her how her prowesss outdid mine so many fields, why wasn’t I there. Why. Oh God why?? Maybe I liked that, that pedestal. I felt raised on. But I couldn’t…[ and its almost too late] [can anything still grow now?]

Oh Ms.Msic, how I loved you. Ms.Music and your cheerfulness, Ms.Music and your loveliness Ms.Music  and your artistry, beauty, cute diddles, Ms.Music and yo---

                Ms.Music said something ( honest) today.

She said I didn’t care.

Huh.

                Huh.

                                Huh…..

                                                Why…?

A vision of cheery amusement befalls me. My family, I perceive. They are having fun, it’s a birthday, I think.

And; there’s an issue. I am over here and they are over there. Why aren’t I with them..?Why aren’t I--?

                Hours pass. Mother called me self-centered then slapped me. Isn’t she unfair! Doesn’t she understand I need alone time ( away from the filth) Time to think and reflect? (On how I am always the smartest in the room?)  To simply enjoy my own company? (.)

                Ms.Music said, “And I don’t think you even care…” she’s wrong (she’s right) she’s wrong (she’s right) I do care. What do I need to do? Rip out my heart and show it to  her? Oh Christ, Ms.Hope had acted the same way. Ms.Passion,Ms.Grace,Ms….

                I see it.

                Our conversation started to have noticeably incongruent stops, nightly caresses no longer. It was starting to sting, and, Ms.Music clearly needed convincement I loved her so I told her;

” Wraith writhe intwine my bedsheets fold, evaporated tears faded from white-angel’s cheeks to be more than sugarcubes in God’s evening tea; And though the cries by violin strum, the sobs fall as drops ‘o water down to mechanized earth. Sweet wet concrete that ‘haLLLoo’ (that is, hallo with a capital ‘Elll’) my nostril, how can I tell you how much I love you?”

She didn’t respond.

                She didn’t respond for a long time.

My thoughts (my pedestal) My thoughts (my pedestal). There I go once more( it is crumbling). Me, self, autos. Why did I? why

                Why was I so selfish. Thoughts, feelings,disgustingall, grand-gesturing mask-concealed habit, apt for apath of apathy, pathetic pathos of love, apathetic habit besmuggled by a glove,

(if I don’t have you, what do I have then? If I don’t have you I cannot have me)

[noise]

A lot of noise. A lot, of it.(The whitenoise was too loud now)

A vile comeuppance it is! To realize that the self-hatred was valid from skinentry!

                Untrue,maybe, but quell my heart, disarray at all it’s methods, functions, classes and let me cry   “God, why”

As it let me admonish language that befall my dead mind.

                I have been saying all the wrong words, as of late; My tongue is defunct and the demon of fey-wit has poised lamented dictionaries that gated my throat with a sin of phrase-making. I have been kissing Ms.Music all the wrong ways as of recent. Lips parsing, passing no communication, only habit-split disease worthwhile a robot. I haven’t been myself, for a while. A definition I have never found in an encyclopedia or diction but added in felt-tip pen. And in searching forgot you stood there watching,

Cheering me on, caring.

                I didn’t care, not really(.)

I haven’t cared for a long time, as of ever. So, break my liver it and eat it you made judiciary! I have deserved punishment. She will leave, as did the others, but then what? What will be ? A misshapen clay pot that can’t even hold a pint of drink? God, why

No. I think, I was never meant for connection, for joining with another for more than an extended period; for use of words like “love” . My feelings conjoined and disguised like the obfuscated text that I oh so seem to love to perpetuate. These lingual bend and stab me; if’s and what if’s rear up and cut me down. I am no one then, I am nothing now, dust bitter orangeskin fragment squeezed into kindergarteners’ eyes, pain inflicting like sharp daggers. My soul . O my soul, strewn and cast like chicken shittlings to the abyss, the great blast furnace, the endless trod and then you appear, like a bird? Winds thorned, beak polished, pecking my eyes out (they still function) and tearing my tongue( it is defunct) and so suc-fucking-cessfully spiraling me in a squarespin of dark numbing nonsense and fears where words lose more meaning than they can afford. And and and. My pedestal, my worth. I,I,I,I,I,I,I

                I am here, you are there. I am not lying when I say I love you. I am lying when I say I know how to show it

                Ms.Music, I think we should see different people.