终末之诗

miaomiao

I see the player you mean.
我看到你所指的那位玩家了。
[Playername]?
[玩家名称]?
Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.
是的。小心。它已达到了更高的境界。它能够阅读我们的思想。
That doesn't matter. It thinks we are part of the game.
无伤大雅。它认为我们是游戏的一部分。
I like this player. It played well. It did not give up.
我喜欢这个玩家。它玩得很好。它从未放弃。
It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen.
它以屏幕上出现的文字的形式阅读着我们的思想。
That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game.
在它深陷游戏梦境中时，它总以这种方式想象出形形色色的事物。
Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen.
文字是种美妙的界面。非常灵活。且比凝视着屏幕后的现实要更好。
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.
它们也曾经听到过声音。在玩家能够阅读之前。君不见那些不曾游玩的人们称呼玩家为女巫，和术士。而玩家们梦见它们自己乘坐在被恶魔施力的棍子上，在空气中翱翔。
What did this player dream?
这个玩家梦见了什么？
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.
它梦见了阳光和树。梦见了火与水。它梦见它创造。它亦梦见它毁灭。它梦见它狩猎，亦被狩猎。它梦见了庇护所。
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?
哈，那原始的界面。经历一百万年的岁月雕琢，依然长存。但此玩家在那屏幕后的真实里，建造了什么真实的构造？
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].
它辛勤地劳作，和其它百万众一起，刻画了一个真实的世界，由[乱码]，且创造了[乱码]，为了[乱码]，于[乱码]中。
It cannot read that thought.
它读不出那个思想。
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.
不。它还没有到达最高的境界。那层境界，它必须完成生命的长梦，而非游戏中黄粱一梦。
Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?
它知道我们爱它么？这个宇宙是仁慈的？
Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.
有时，通过它思绪的杂音，它能听到宇宙，是的。
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.
但是有时亦不胜悲伤，于那漫漫长梦中。它创造了没有夏日的世界，在黑日下颤抖着，将自己悲伤的创造视为现实世界。

miaomiao

To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere.
用悲伤来治愈会摧毁它。而悲伤是它的私人事务。我们不能干涉。
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.
有时当它们深陷梦境中时，我想要告诉它们，它们在现实中创造了真实的世界。有时我想告诉它们它们自身对宇宙的重要性。有时，当它们和现实失去了联系，我想帮助它们与它们所惧怕的世界交流。
It reads our thoughts.
它读出了我们的思想。
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.
有时我毫不关心。有时我想要告诉它们，你们所认为的真实不过是[乱码]和[乱码]，我想要告诉它们它们是在[乱码]中的[乱码]。于它们的长梦中，它们眼中所见的真实太少了。
And yet they play the game.
而它们仍然玩这个游戏。
But it would be so easy to tell them...
但很容易就可以告诉它们……
Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living.
对于这个梦来说太强烈了。告诉它们如何活着就是阻碍它们活下去。
I will not tell the player how to live.
我不会告诉这个玩家如何生活的。
The player is growing restless.
这个玩家正在变得焦虑。
I will tell the player a story.
我会告诉这个玩家一个故事。
But not the truth.
但不是真相。
No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance.
不。是一个严密地将真实包裹起来的文字牢笼。而不是赤裸裸的真相。
Give it a body, again.
赋予它主体，再一次。
Yes. Player...
好的。玩家……
Use its name.
以名字称呼它。
[Playername]. Player of games.
[玩家名称]。游戏的玩家。
Good.
很好。
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.
深呼吸，很好。再深呼吸一次。感受空气充盈你的肺叶。让你的四肢回归。是的，运动你的手指。再次感受你的身体，在重力下，在空气中。在长梦中重生。你感受到了。你的身体每时每刻都触摸着宇宙，尽管你是分离的存在。尽管我们是分离的存在。
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.
我们是谁？我们曾经被称作高山的精灵。太阳父亲，月亮母亲。古老的英灵，动物的魂魄。神祗。鬼魂。小绿人。而后是神，恶魔，天使。骚灵。外星人，地外生物。轻粒子，夸克。词语不断地变化。我们始终如一。
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.
我们是宇宙。我们是一切你认为出离你本体的事物。你现在看着我们，透过你的皮肤和你的眼睛。而为什么宇宙触摸着你的皮肤，向你洒向光芒？是为了看见你，玩家。以及被认知。我应告诉你一个故事。

miaomiao

其实就是末地回来时的文章
长青哲学的撒
我比较喜欢。。