Minecraft God Dialogue Read
Minecraft God Dialogue Read is a video published to Chris's YouTube channel on 5 November 2024. Chris reads the ending dialogue that plays at the credits in Minecraft after the player defeats the Ender Dragon. Chris inserts his messiah complex into the narrative and misreads a few times.
Video
| Minecraft God Dialogue Read | |
| Search for video | YouTube, archive |
| Stardate | 5 November 2024 |
| Subject Matter |  Video Games
|
| Saga |  Revelations,  Praetor
|
| OFFICIAL and HONEST CWC Videos | |
| previous Minecraft Exploring The End Realm. |
next Jesus Christ Chan Reacting to Presidential Elections 2024 |
Description
| A dramatic reading of the dialogue of the Minecraft Gods that plays after exiting the End Realm and before returning home.
Buy from my Etsy Store: Full Minecraft Playlist: |
Transcript
And so like a tale as old as time, the Ender Dragon has been defeated for the first time. And the deities of the universe through the Minecraft text fonts... speak.
I see the player, you mean.
Mhm. Jesus Christine Weston Chandler Sonichu Prime, the one avatar of all existence.
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.
Ha, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works. But what true structures did this player created, in the reality behind the screen?
It worked with a million others to sculpt a true world in a fold of the blank, and created a blank for blank in the blank.
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 sort of 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 world 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 blank and blank. I wish to tell them that they are blank in the blank. 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.
Jesus Christine Weston Chandler Sonichu Prime. Player of games, avatar of all existence, and all other aspects... and everything else.
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 world changes. 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, Jesus Christine Weston Chandler Sonichu Prime.
Sometimes it thought itself human, not 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 source code by- 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 of the player's body were created, so 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 reads 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 the light in this corner of the player's eye- player's eyes might be a star a million times as massive as the sun, boiling its planets towards 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 zeros and ones, through the electricity in the world, through the scrolling words on the 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. [Chris does a single clap then smiles.]
References
| ⇐ Minecraft Exploring The End Realm. | Chris's videos | Jesus Christ Chan Reacting to Presidential Elections 2024 ⇒ |