-
终末之诗
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。
它梦见它创造。
它亦梦见它毁灭。
它梦见它狩猎，
亦被
狩猎。他梦见了庇护所。
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].
它辛勤地工作了，
和其它百万众一起，
刻画了一个真实的世界，
< br>由
[
乱
码
]
，且创造了
[
乱码
]
，为了
[
乱码
]
，于
[
乱码
]
中。
It cannot read that thought.
它无法阅读那个思想。
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，他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。
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.
它读着我们的思想
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.
而他们仍然玩这个游戏。
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.
< br>[
玩家名称
]
。游戏的玩家。<
/p>
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。
Once upon a time, there was a player.
很久以前，有一个玩家。
The player was you, [Playername].
那玩家就是你，
[
玩家名称
]
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.
有时它认
为自己是那不断旋转的球体上一层薄薄的熔化的岩石上的
人类。
那融化的岩石球环绕着一个质量大它三千三百倍的炫目气体球
旋转。
它们是相隔得如此之远，
以至于光需要八分钟才能穿越那空隙。
那光是来自一颗恒星的信息，
它能够在一亿五千万公里外烧灼你的皮
肤。
Sometimes
the player dreamed it was a miner, on the surface