Oh. You opened that door after all. You finally let your curiosity get the better of you.

Well, don’t make that face. Now that you’re here, I should think you my esteemed guest. I’m sure you’ve a few questions, but introductions first.

You may call me Degen3rate, Degen, or whatever suits you, really. This dreary little place where you have found yourself is a record of my translations. Experiences, nightmares, and dreams . . . it is an archive of stories, poetry, songs, and argument. One I built with my own two hands. Every brick, every painting, every word. I once sought to mine to the very bedrock of humanity. To reach into that purest and deepest of roots and coax out truths that few others have dared witness, let alone metabolize. I’m still not quite sure if I came back alright.

In any case, the importance of our meeting is not one I take lightly. And so, I would never keep you away. You are free to leave and return as you wish. Should you ever chance or dream your way back, perhaps you might even see that this place has grown. Or changed.

I suppose if you do stay awhile, you ought to know that in truth, I am dead. And have been for quite long. Indeed, I was once like you. However, that is very much a dark and lonely tale . . . and perhaps one for another time. If you looked hard enough, you would probably find it somewhere around here anyhow.

So, why don’t you run along and look for a few pages to sink your teeth into? I’m sure you’ll find a few works worthy of pulling to pieces. And if you do, be sure to come back and tell me about it. I am quite fond of listening to others’ thoughts.