The Untold Story of the Minecraft End Poem
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- Опубліковано 10 гру 2022
- Julian's Post: theeggandtherock.substack.com...
If you'd like to support me (woah, thanks):
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If you'd like to see me read the end poem with AI generated images. Click here: ua-cam.com/video/N29uJRXYd-0/v-deo.html
i cant believe you talked about art and how massive corporations exploit and destroy art and artists, yet promotes the use of ai
Art is dying because of corporations trying to capitalize on it, this is a little spark of hope that we must hold on to, for how much longer we can
It makes me so angry that a talentless finance hack tried to trick a writer out of money. Being good at what you do, having lots of money and having a degree to prove you have brains means nothing if they're a dishonest person with selfish goals that hurt others. Maybe it's just a short poem in a kid's video game that just boils down to "go outside and touch grass," but it's a well written poem that's worth damn well more than what Julien got out of it. I know he claims that he set it free into the public domain, free for everyone to use, but I'm sick and tired of artists starving themselves and not valuing their work. You pay a plumber to fix your kitchen sink, you pay money for the people who stretch your canvas and mix your paint, and artists should be paid for the joy they bring into the world.
any resistance to corporations, and capitalism as a whole, is legitimate, because the result of not resisting them is the death of everything we love. and the evidence of this is impossible to ignore
@@kenpanderz based, and based pfp
We as the fans are the key in the end though it’s about the adventure, the experience, the path oneself travels. It’s our own (your own) journey and that’s what truly matters. That same greed is what made Notch leave, so it’s unfortunate yes.
Fr
Really funny how this poem casually explains the meaning of life, answering literally the single biggest question humankind has ever posed, and most people skip it.
I wonder how to achieve the highest level, in this long dream.
@@alexleo-wolf4339I think the point of the poem is that its different for everyone. It stresses that every player is a unique individual: a new story never told before, a new program never run before, a new human never alive before. Nobody else who is alive, ever was alive, or ever will be alive will have the same purpose as you. Each individual has an irreplaceable role to play in the universe, and achieving the “highest level” in the real world is when you complete your life, fulfill your role in existence, and ascend to whatever comes after mortal life.
@@orange_turtle3412 makes sense.
I skipped part of it accidentally. Almost immediately searched it up on UA-cam.
"And the Universe said I love you, because you are love." rlly hits diff
Julian Gough didn't read the "silly" part of the application
it means to touch grass
1:18 we can't just blow past the fact that you got 4 flint and steel in one chest
“Unskippable” meanwhile Microsoft who put a skip button: “I’m about to ruin this man’s whole career!”
And yet I will never skip it, no matter how many times I see that text.
When I first started, I couldn't skip it
I first finished minecraft completely the way through when I was 11, each word of that poem rang through me. It felt surreal, exactly as Julian said, like the universe needed to share it with the world, like the universe needed me to hear it. Almost 7 years later and I have dreams about this poem still, thank you for sharing its story, and the artist with all of us, it's a story I'm glad I now know.
Popped up on recommended btw!
What an eye-opening story to hear. And also so sad for Julian. I too, assumed Notch had written the masterpiece of the end poem and didn't even consider someone else did. I think Julian is much too nice for this situation and that his kindness was taken advantage of. The fact that he opened himself up to Microsoft's lawyers through his post and everything else, really shows volumes of his character. I'm just simply amazed. Thank you Julian
Woah, welcome! Thanks for watching. Glad you enjoyed!
@@RivetingMaterial The man who wrote the Minecraft end poem is Irish writer Julian Gough, a nice about my home country.
The man who wrote the Minecraft end poem is Irish writer Julian Gough, a nice about my home country.
I just beat minecraft and i loved the poem. I was like, "notch wrote this?"
But the universe told me he didnt hshaha
Much love to julian
I had always asummed Mojang had written the ending, and had never even heard of Julian. Thank you for making me aware of this, even if there are no "bad guys" (I personally still feel that Carl's actions were...unfair) this still interests me and I will read the full post by Julian, there is more I could say about your video but it speaks for itself in quality. You did a good job as always Rivet (and I hope Mooncake is doing well)
-Asket the Parasite
Thanks Asket, your comments always give me a grin! See ya on stream
@@RivetingMaterial Thanks for the kind words, I'll make sure to be as fast as possible this time!
Julian was in a band with my dad in the 80's and 90's, I've actually met him many times he's very cool! The band is called toasted heretic!
@@henrymcmahon7927 what on earth! That's really fascinating. I'll definitely check out the band! Thank you for sharing
@@henrymcmahon7927 Aengus is your dad?? omg cool
As an artist myself, this touches my heart
There should really be a movie about this story it kinda insane and all over the place and I would love to see this on the big screen
Minecraft Movie is already coming, don't worry
We've got a left handed Minecraft player.
Loll
I always beat minecraft with cheats so I skipped because I felt like I wasn't ready to read the poem, but once I finally beat it, I read it and it was honestly such a great poem tbh. Not worth skipping
Ooh, just went over and read it. What an interesting read. Julian certainly seems to have a very interesting outlook on the world, and I can't say I dislike it
I finished the game for the first time in solo survival mode for the first time last year (skill issue), at that point i had already be playing the game for almost a decade. Obviously, i had beaten the game in my childhood multiple times in creative and multiplayer but i never read the poem assuming it was just a bunch of gibberish or just thanks from the creators for playing the game and my underdeveloped english didn't help much either. I finished the game and purely for the memes i sat down and read the entire thing, i never expected something like that, it's crazy how overlooked the ending of the game is and I'd say it actually shows a lot
Randomly popped up on my recommended, and I really hope it does for other people going onwards. This is a story that deserves far more attention and Julians treatment and experience is in need of far more awareness.
I am extremely grateful for the Minecraft end poem, I first read it about a year ago and since then my perspective on life has gradually yet massively changed. Well, I'd read it in the past many years ago at the end of Minecraft but I was younger and dumber, and brushed it off, having not really understood it.
The time I read it and truly took it in, it was especially salient because I was actually really stoned lol - and very depressed. It was 4am and I was about to fall asleep on the sofa, so I put on a video of Minecraft ambient music and then noticed as I was laying there as a vegetable, that the captions seemed to be speaking to me, and referring to me as "player". Being extremely high, I found this very confusing and alarming for a moment, haha
After 30 seconds or so it clicked that it was the strange poem from the end of Minecraft that I'd seen a long time ago, and the uploader had put it in the captions of the video. The alarm of the initial confusion and thinking I was actually being spoken to by the TV, ended up fitting a little too well with the meaning of the poem itself, as I read more of it. Even though I now realised that it was the poem from the end of Minecraft, because of the unexpected way that it entered my awareness and just how disgustingly stoned I was, I now was still sort of reading it as though the universe was actually speaking to me, and that made it much more profound.
When it said "and the universe said I love you, because you are love", I cried. It felt like I'd just remembered what love really was for the first time in a while. I felt like a robot at the time.
Anyway that's my long essay that nobody asked for, just thought I'd share because this poem means a lot to me. I'm grateful for the video giving more insight into the lovely person that created it, and very sad to hear how unfairly he was treated. He handled it all so gracefully.
Thank you for this comment. The poem I think is so lovely because it catches people really oof guard. Even if the actual context of Minecraft it sort of entrances you after you beat the game. It's just the sobering reminder that life is pretty unreal. Existence is unreal. If you confront reality with any level of self awareness you really feel the buzz of wonder. When you realize your problems are just complex permutation of contrivance and the simple fact of your survival and existence is really frank and easy and tangible and lovely. I had a wonderful time reading this poem and tossing it's verses into an AI yielded some fascinating results. For all the controversy around AI art I think it is a good tool for coalescing the ideas that bounce around in the minds of people.
@@RivetingMaterial thank you for reading, and for the video :) existence really is unreal.
It really is such a great piece of writing isn't it. The way it breaks the fourth wall and then even what could be considered the 'fifth' wall is really cool.
Just the very idea that something created us out of love, and gifted us with that very same love within us is enough to give meaning to life. It doesn't need to make anymore sense than that. Whether you call it God or the natural order, it's love of the creator all the same, and that is truly a divine blessing if ever there was one.
I will check out that video friend, seeing what an AI comes up with sounds interesting, it's becoming so advanced
this was a beautiful story, thanks
I love learning new things about a game that is one of my favorites. Thank you for the care and time you put in to telling this little unknown to most story.
Glad you enjoy it!
Calling it now that this video is going to explode and grabbing my 'I was here before 1k views' ticket. The end poem really is a gift that keeps on giving and it was super neat to learn more about how it was created and treated after its creation. I truly hope more people get to see this, thank you
Ty for telling this beautiful story
Few days ago I got my first tattoo. 'And the universe said "i love you", because you are love" in minecraft font. This simple game has changed my life over 12 years ago and I still play it.
Thats awesome
I had read the post a few days ago, and now I'm glad this video exists to spread the message of his post farther than it can go on its own.
this has addressed the thread i saw from him on twitter a few days ago, i never killed the ender dragon so i had no clue there was a poem. nor any idea about the story of the poem.
thank
Sad how so many people skip this. Especially when it holds so much valuable words and knowledge, just waiting to be read. They say games can't teach you anything. Well, have they looked at this? Get up guys. Dream another dream. And never forget these words...
This video was recommended to me, and thank you for introducing me to this story and Julian's post
Lore of The Untold Story of the Minecraft End Poem momentum 100
Been a while since a UA-cam video made me cry
What a great video! I had no idea this had even happened. Thanks for telling the story
The man who wrote the Minecraft end poem is Irish writer Julian Gough, a nice about my home country.
So interesting to hear! I had no idea any of this happened
My headcannon is that the End Poem is evidence of Broken God theory.
All thanks to Julian,he wrote history...
I just finished the video only to be shocked at the little amount of subs views and likes this has. the sheer quality of this made me think that this was a massive video but at least it seems to be favored by the algorithim as this was the first video on my recomended
Julian, we are the universe, you spoke for us, and we love you. because we are love.
ty for sharing
dunno how this showed up on my home-page with only 140 views, but i am very interested in knowing this story... thanks YT algorithm
Thanks for taking a shot on small views!
I honestly didn't expect that from Notch, I thought he was better than that.
I just know I’m not the only person who cried reading it the first time
Great video man
Thanks Eric!
I hope there’s a voiced version of this poem at the end of the minecraft movie
There's a voiced and acted version by Pixel Pug.
Your channel name is accurate, great stuff
this video was amazing.
Thanks!
your hotbar is a crime
Small youtuber with a good video 10/10. I think youtube updated their algorithm to push smaller channels
The company was the real villain.
3:12 best moment of the video
Awesome video i have just subscribe to your channel. ❤
Thanks very much, and welcome!
How did he not already have the diamond advancement when he mined the diamond ore? He was literally HOLDING A DIAMOND PICAKAXE AND AXE while wearing FULL DIAMOND ARMOR.
It's easy, I made a fresh world and gave myself the diamond gear in creative. Because I didn't want to mess with an existing save and I wanted to get the video done quickly since it was responding to news. Good eye!
Minecraft End Poem to read if you don’t understand:
I see the player you mean.
PLAYERNAME?
Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.
That doesn't matter. It thinks we are part of the game.
I like this player. It played well. It did not give up.
It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen.
That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game.
Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen.
They used to hear voices. Before players could read. Back in the days when those who did not play called the players witches, and warlocks. And players dreamed they flew through the air, on sticks powered by demons.
What did this player dream?
This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. It dreamed it created. And it dreamed it destroyed. It dreamed it hunted, and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter.
Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works. But what true structure did this player create, in the reality behind the screen?
It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true world in a fold of the [scrambled], and created a [scrambled] for [scrambled], in the [scrambled].
It cannot read that thought.
No. It has not yet achieved the highest level. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game.
Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?
Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.
But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes its sad creation for reality.
To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere.
Sometimes when they are deep in dreams, I want to tell them, they are building true worlds in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them of their importance to the universe. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear.
It reads our thoughts.
Sometimes I do not care. Sometimes I wish to tell them, this world you take for truth is merely [scrambled] and [scrambled], I wish to tell them that they are [scrambled] in the [scrambled]. They see so little of reality, in their long dream.
And yet they play the game.
But it would be so easy to tell them...
Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living.
I will not tell the player how to live.
The player is growing restless.
I will tell the player a story.
But not the truth.
No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance.
Give it a body, again.
Yes. Player...
Use its name.
PLAYERNAME. Player of games.
Good.
Take a breath, now. Take another. Feel air in your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in air. Respawn in the long dream. There you are. Your body touching the universe again at every point, as though you were separate things. As though we were separate things.
Who are we? Once we were called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. Jinn. Ghosts. The green man. Then gods, demons. Angels. Poltergeists. Aliens, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We do not change.
We are the universe. We are everything you think isn't you. You are looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin, and throw light on you? To see you, player. To know you. And to be known. I shall tell you a story.
Once upon a time, there was a player.
The player was you, PLAYERNAME.
Sometimes it thought itself human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock. The ball of molten rock circled a ball of blazing gas that was three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. They were so far apart that light took eight minutes to cross the gap. The light was information from a star, and it could burn your skin from a hundred and fifty million kilometres away.
Sometimes the player dreamed it was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. The sun was a square of white. The days were short; there was much to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience.
Sometimes the player dreamed it was lost in a story.
Sometimes the player dreamed it was other things, in other places. Sometimes these dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful indeed. Sometimes the player woke from one dream into another, then woke from that into a third.
Sometimes the player dreamed it watched words on a screen.
Let's go back.
The atoms of the player were scattered in the grass, in the rivers, in the air, in the ground. A woman gathered the atoms; she drank and ate and inhaled; and the woman assembled the player, in her body.
And the player awoke, from the warm, dark world of its mother's body, into the long dream.
And the player was a new story, never told before, written in letters of DNA. And the player was a new program, never run before, generated by a sourcecode a billion years old. And the player was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love.
You are the player. The story. The program. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love.
Let's go further back.
The seven billion billion billion atoms of the player's body were created, long before this game, in the heart of a star. So the player, too, is information from a star. And the player moves through a story, which is a forest of information planted by a man called Julian, on a flat, infinite world created by a man called Markus, that exists inside a small, private world created by the player, who inhabits a universe created by...
Shush. Sometimes the player created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated. Sometimes it built a model of the universe in its head; flecks of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes it called those flecks "electrons" and "protons".
Sometimes it called them "planets" and "stars".
Sometimes it believed it was in a universe that was made of energy that was made of offs and ons; zeros and ones; lines of code. Sometimes it believed it was playing a game. Sometimes it believed it was reading words on a screen.
You are the player, reading words...
Shush... Sometimes the player read lines of code on a screen. Decoded them into words; decoded words into meaning; decoded meaning into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player started to breathe faster and deeper and realised it was alive, it was alive, those thousand deaths had not been real, the player was alive
You. You. You are alive.
and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the sunlight that came through the shuffling leaves of the summer trees
and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the light that fell from the crisp night sky of winter, where a fleck of light in the corner of the player's eye might be a star a million times as massive as the sun, boiling its planets to plasma in order to be visible for a moment to the player, walking home at the far side of the universe, suddenly smelling food, almost at the familiar door, about to dream again
and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the scrolling words on a screen at the end of a dream
and the universe said I love you
and the universe said you have played the game well
and the universe said everything you need is within you
and the universe said you are stronger than you know
and the universe said you are the daylight
and the universe said you are the night
and the universe said the darkness you fight is within you
and the universe said the light you seek is within you
and the universe said you are not alone
and the universe said you are not separate from every other thing
and the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code
and the universe said I love you because you are love.
And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream. And the player began a new dream. And the player dreamed again, dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love.
You are the player.
Wake up.
I see the player you mean.
((insert player’s name here))?
Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.
That doesn’t matter. It thinks we are part of the game.
I like this player. It played well. It did not give up.
It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen.
That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game.
Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen.
They used to hear voices. Before players could read. Back in the days when those who did not play called the players witches, and warlocks. And players dreamed they flew through the air, on sticks powered by demons.
What did this player dream?
This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. It dreamed it created. And it dreamed it destroyed. It dreamed it hunted, and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter.
Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works.
But what true structure did this player create, in the reality behind the screen?
It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true world in a fold of
the ***§§§???, and created a **??§§ for **??§§, in the **??§§.
It cannot read that thought.
No. It has not yet achieved the highest level. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game.
Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?
Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.
But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes its sad creation for reality.
To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere.
Sometimes when they are deep in dreams, I want to tell them, they are building true worlds in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them of their importance to the universe. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear.
It reads our thoughts.
Sometimes I do not care. 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 **??§§. They see so little of reality, in their long dream.
And yet they play the game.
But it would be so easy to tell them...
Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living.
I will not tell the player how to live.
The player is growing restless.
I will tell the player a story.
But not the truth.
No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance.
Give it a body, again.
Yes. Player…
Use its name.
((insert player’s name here)). Player of games.
Good.
Take a breath, now. Take another. Feel air in your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in air. Respawn in the long dream. There you are. Your body touching the universe again at every point, as though you were separate things. As though we were separate things.
Who are we? Once we were called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. Jinn. Ghosts. The green man. Then gods, demons. Angels. Poltergeists. Aliens, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We do not change.
We are the universe. We are everything you think isn’t you. You are looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin, and throw light on you? To see you, player. To know you. And to be known. I shall tell you a story.
Once upon a time, there was a player.
The player was you, ((insert player’s name here)).
Sometimes it thought itself human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock. The ball of molten rock circled a ball of blazing gas that was three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. They were so far apart that light took eight minutes to cross the gap. The light was information from a star, and it could burn your skin from a hundred and fifty million kilometres away.
Sometimes the player dreamed it was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. The sun was a square of white. The days were short; there was much to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience.
Sometimes the player dreamed it was lost in a story.
Sometimes the player dreamed it was other things, in other places. Sometimes these dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful indeed. Sometimes the player woke from one dream into another, then woke from that into a third.
Sometimes the player dreamed it watched words on a screen.
Let’s go back.
The atoms of the player were scattered in the grass, in the rivers, in the air, in the ground. A woman gathered the atoms; she drank and ate and inhaled; and the woman assembled the player, in her body.
And the player awoke, from the warm, dark world of its mother’s body, into the long dream.
And the player was a new story, never told before, written in letters of DNA. And the player was a new program, never run before, generated by a sourcecode a billion years old. And the player was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love.
You are the player. The story. The program. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love.
Let’s go further back.
The seven billion billion billion atoms of the player’s body were created, long before this game, in the heart of a star. So the player, too, is information from a star. And the player moves through a story, which is a forest of information planted by a man called Julian, on a flat, infinite world created by a man called Markus, that exists inside a small, private world created by the player, who inhabits a universe created by…
Shush. Sometimes the player created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated. Sometimes it built a model of the universe in its head; flecks of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes it called those flecks “electrons” and “protons”.
Sometimes it called them “planets” and “stars”.
Sometimes it believed it was in a universe that was made of energy that was made of offs and ons; zeros and ones; lines of code. Sometimes it believed it was playing a game. Sometimes it believed it was reading words on a screen.
You are the player, reading words…
Shush… Sometimes the player read lines of code on a screen. Decoded them into words; decoded words into meaning; decoded meaning into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player started to breath faster and deeper and realised it was alive, it was alive, those thousand deaths had not been real, the player was alive
You. You. You are alive.
and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the sunlight that came through the shuffling leaves of the summer trees
and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the light that fell from the crisp night sky of winter, where a fleck of light in the corner of the player’s eye might be a star a million times as massive as the sun, boiling its planets to plasma in order to be visible for a moment to the player, walking home at the far side of the universe, suddenly smelling food, almost at the familiar door, about to dream again
and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the scrolling words on a screen at the end of a dream
and the universe said I love you
and the universe said you have played the game well
and the universe said everything you need is within you
and the universe said you are stronger than you know
and the universe said you are the daylight
and the universe said you are the night
and the universe said the darkness you fight is within you
and the universe said the light you seek is within you
and the universe said you are not alone
and the universe said you are not separate from every other thing
and the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code
and the universe said I love you because you are love.
And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream. And the player began a new dream. And the player dreamed again, dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love.
You are the player.
Wake up.
He posted it a day before my birthday it’s dec7 1:47
The ending is literally the deepest truth there is.
One consciousness experiencing itself in a unlimited amount of fractals Watch the movie The Nines
That ending part of the story. Are you sure no one is the bad guy? I mean Minecraft is still a good game but that doesn’t have to mean it was made by good people?
Those are more Julian's word than my own. That kind of money seems to turn everyone a bit sour.
take my subscription
Take my thanks!
Take mine
Seems like it was Julian's fault, assuming there would've been a different outcome with the finances if he hadn't been so casual with Carl.
👍
8:02 how did he get the “Diamonds!” Advancement while already having Diamond stuff
Easy, I made this world from scratch and gave myself basic gear in creative because I didn't have any survival worlds with living ender dragons. Just needed the footage 😅
😢😂❤
This guy kinda reminds me of technoblade
I see the player you mean.
[The player’s username would go here]?
Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.
That doesn't matter. It thinks we are part of the game.
I like this player. It played well. It did not give up.
It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen.
That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game.
Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen.
They used to hear voices. Before players could read. Back in the days when those who did not play called the players witches, and warlocks. And players dreamed they flew through the air, on sticks powered by demons.
What did this player dream？
This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. It dreamed it created. And it dreamed it destroyed. It dreamed it hunted, and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter.
Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works. But what true structure did this player create, in the reality behind the screen?
It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true world in a fold of the ####, and created a #### for ####, in the ####.
It cannot read that thought.
No. It has not yet achieved the highest level. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game.
Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?
Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.
But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes its sad creation for reality.
To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere.
Sometimes when they are deep in dreams, I want to tell them, they are building true worlds in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them of their importance to the universe. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear.
It reads our thoughts.
Sometimes I do not care. 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 ####. They see so little of reality, in their long dream.
And yet they play the game.
But it would be so easy to tell them...
Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living.
I will not tell the player how to live.
The player is growing restless.
I will tell the player a story.
But not the truth.
No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance.
Give it a body, again.
Yes. Player...
Use its name.
[The player’s username would go here]. Player of games.
Good.
Take a breath, now. Take another. Feel air in your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in air. Respawn in the long dream. There you are. Your body touching the universe again at every point, as though you were separate things. As though we were separate things.
Who are we? Once we were called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. Jinn. Ghosts. The green man. Then gods, demons. Angels. Poltergeists. Aliens, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We do not change.
We are the universe. We are everything you think isn't you. You are looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin, and throw light on you? To see you, player. To know you. And to be known. I shall tell you a story.
Once upon a time, there was a player.
The player was you, [The player’s username would go here].
Sometimes it thought itself human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock. The ball of molten rock circled a ball of blazing gas that was three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. They were so far apart that light took eight minutes to cross the gap. The light was information from a star, and it could burn your skin from a hundred and fifty million kilometers away.
Sometimes the player dreamed it was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. The sun was a square of white. The days were short; there was much to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience.
Sometimes the player dreamed it was lost in a story.
Sometimes the player dreamed it was other things, in other places. Sometimes these dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful indeed. Sometimes the player woke from one dream into another, then woke from that into a third.
Sometimes the player dreamed it watched words on a screen.
Let's go back.
The atoms of the player were scattered in the grass, in the rivers, in the air, in the ground. A woman gathered the atoms; she drank and ate and inhaled; and the woman assembled the player, in her body.
And the player awoke, from the warm, dark world of its mother's body, into the long dream.
And the player was a new story, never told before, written in letters of DNA. And the player was a new program, never run before, generated by a sourcecode a billion years old. And the player was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love.
You are the player. The story. The program. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love.
Let's go further back.
The seven billion billion billion atoms of the player's body were created, long before this game, in the heart of a star. So the player, too, is information from a star. And the player moves through a story, which is a forest of information planted by a man called Julian, on a flat, infinite world created by a man called Markus, that exists inside a small, private world created by the player, who inhabits a universe created by...
Shush. Sometimes the player created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated. Sometimes it built a model of the universe in its head; flecks of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes it called those flecks "electrons" and "protons".
Sometimes it called them "planets" and "stars".
Sometimes it believed it was in a universe that was made of energy that was made of offs and ones; zeros and ones; lines of code. Sometimes it believed it was playing a game. Sometimes it believed it was reading words on a screen.
You are the player, reading words...
Shush... Sometimes the player read lines of code on a screen. Decoded them into words; decoded words into meaning; decoded meaning into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player started to breathe faster and deeper and realized it was alive, it was alive, those thousand deaths had not been real, the player was alive
You. You. You are alive.
And sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the sunlight that came through the shuffling leaves of the summer trees
And sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the light that fell from the crisp night sky of winter, where a fleck of light in the corner of the player's eye might be a star a million times as massive as the sun, boiling its planets to plasma in order to be visible for a moment to the player, walking home at the far side of the universe, suddenly smelling food, almost at the familiar door, about to dream again
And sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the scrolling words on a screen at the end of a dream
And the universe said I love you
And the universe said you have played the game well
And the universe said everything you need is within you
And the universe said you are stronger than you know
And the universe said you are the daylight
And the universe said you are the night
And the universe said the darkness you fight is within you
And the universe said the light you seek is within you
And the universe said you are not alone
And the universe said you are not separate from every other thing
And the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code
And the universe said I love you because you are love.
And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream. And the player began a new dream. And the player dreamed again, dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love.
You are the player.
Wake up.
8:08
Explore. Dream. Discover.
The poem is highly spritual and philisophical
Notch, can someone write poem for game
Julian, ah yes let me just
🏞️🪷🗿🕊️🙏🏼🎻🏔️💨🐦🪘🎹☯️🕉️✝️♾️🌬️🌍🌌🌠☄️💫
bro how the FUCK did you find diamonds WHILE looking for the stronghold 😭
Bro you called Mojang moyang
That's actually how it's pronounced. It's a swedish company, Mo-jang is a commonly used mispronunciation. Both ways are acceptable and everyone knows what's being talked about but I've always just pronounced it that way because that's how the development teams pronounces it in videos
@@RivetingMaterialwait mojang means ancestors?
Mo yang 9:36 10:44 10:59 11:49 12:28
...is how it's pronounced by the development team....
Really funny how the aim in the background gameplay is absolutely trash :()