EPTFinding it I was a bit confused at first, because I have no memory of writing it. But it says, right on the title that it's by me. Anyway, this is what was in the book and I dedicate it to Minecraft and the awesome people who make and play it!
Craft O' Mine
by: CutieBK
Why is it that we build? Upon which edifice do we see our work turned from the feeble flounderings of the ignorant to the sweep of the master artisans craft?
We build mayhap to turn the mundane into the magnificent.
To shape from the nothing a something greater than the sum of its parts.
Perhaps it is denial.
The craftsman builds to ward off the impending dark, the all-consuming terror of the force which puts all our works to dust.
Yet build we do.
For hours and days, the pickaxe strikes the stone, the axe chops the wood and the spade plows the earth.
What we build rises sometimes to the heavens, sometimes into the deeps, sometimes beneath the waves.
What edifice do we imagine our own world when we paint such wonderful pictures in this land just beyond the veil?
Perhaps we build, even here in this dream of numbers and pixels to make sense of it all.
All I know is I will continue to build.
I will strike a face out of the side of the mountains, carve from dead things the colors of my soul.
Some day, mayhap I'll wake from this dream.
Until then-- I mine, I craft.
by: CutieBK
Why is it that we build? Upon which edifice do we see our work turned from the feeble flounderings of the ignorant to the sweep of the master artisans craft?
We build mayhap to turn the mundane into the magnificent.
To shape from the nothing a something greater than the sum of its parts.
Perhaps it is denial.
The craftsman builds to ward off the impending dark, the all-consuming terror of the force which puts all our works to dust.
Yet build we do.
For hours and days, the pickaxe strikes the stone, the axe chops the wood and the spade plows the earth.
What we build rises sometimes to the heavens, sometimes into the deeps, sometimes beneath the waves.
What edifice do we imagine our own world when we paint such wonderful pictures in this land just beyond the veil?
Perhaps we build, even here in this dream of numbers and pixels to make sense of it all.
All I know is I will continue to build.
I will strike a face out of the side of the mountains, carve from dead things the colors of my soul.
Some day, mayhap I'll wake from this dream.
Until then-- I mine, I craft.
