Once upon a time, in the farthest reaches of a distant plane there wandered a man through a boiling desert of mud. If one were to see him and ask whence he had come, he might have replied that his land was shattered and broken into a thousand pieces. Pieces that, so is his quest, must all be rejoined would he ever desire to see his home again. And so he travels.
But none asked him and for not using his voice his tongue and throat had shrivelled to mere dry meat allowing him but to swallow the tender flesh he bit of the bones of the few creatures thriving within these parts. Filtering the dark and sandy mud pools has kept him afoot. And he remained forever searching for this man was a herder and the shards of his homelands his herd.
And as the desert stretched out for aeons, so did he slowly move on, ever leering over the sand.
This man has no name, for there is no one to call him. He has no will, for there is no thing to want. He is driven by desires spawned by faint memory. The images that haunt his eyes so bleak he can barely define the forms and colours and creatures that dance before his mind. He no longer knows man, no longer understands life, no longer perceives himself, for the water is no mirror and his eyes and appearance are tainted with the soil he walks on.
His knowledge long faded into oblivion by the endless sights of void and has made him quite mad and broken. Were he to meet another man, he would be tempted, deceived and murdered as a child, that knows not yet of the way of man. Were he to meet a woman he’d take is life by himself.

This man, my friends is you…
His lot is yours…
And there’s nothing you can do about it.

Unless, of course, you were to get yourself a copy of the new and improved MadMrMonkeyMagazine. If living at all, you know that you owe it to yourself to get one. Revolution has arisen. Mammals will prevail… Check for availability. monkeyafterdark@globalfrequency.org