3/24/2024 0 Comments End poem minecraft poster![]() The atoms of the player were scattered in the grass, in the rivers, in the air, in the ground. Sometimes the player dreamed it watched words on a screen. Sometimes the player woke from one dream into another, then woke from that into a third. Sometimes the player dreamed it was other things, in other places. Sometimes the player dreamed it was lost in a story. The days were short there was much to do and death was a temporary inconvenience. Sometimes the player dreamed it was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. ![]() The light was information from a star, and it could burn your skin from a hundred and fifty million kilometres away. They were so far apart that light took eight minutes to cross the gap. The ball of molten rock circled a ball of blazing gas that was three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. Sometimes it thought itself human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock. And why does the universe touch your skin, and throw light on you? To see you, player. You are looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes. Who are we? Once we were called the spirit of the mountain. Your body touching the universe again at every point, as though you were separate things. Have a body again, under gravity, in air. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living. ![]() They see so little of reality, in their long dream. Sometimes I wish to tell them, this world you take for truth is merely and, I wish to tell them that they are in the. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear. Sometimes I want to tell them of their importance to the universe. Sometimes when they are deep in dreams, I want to tell them, they are building true worlds in reality. The sorrow is part of its own private task. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes its sad creation for reality. Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.īut there are times it is sad, in the long dream. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game.ĭoes it know that we love it? That the universe is kind? It has not yet achieved the highest level. It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true world in a fold of the, and created a for, in the. But what true structure did this player create, in the reality behind the screen? This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. And players dreamed they flew through the air, on sticks powered by demons. Back in the days when those who did not play called the players witches, and warlocks. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen. That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game. ![]() It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen. ![]()
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