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November Goes By

11-15-03 - 2:04 a.m.

I am a glob of dried mud caked about your knuckles, warming you slightly with the heat I capture after you generate it yourself, warming it a bit more as the sun beats down through it, chilling you in the dead of night.

I magnify, intensify, distort, neither creating nor destroying. My purpose in life is merely emphatic. Too sharp for dullards and too dull for genius, I make the weak feel weaker with my presence, and the strong, stronger.

The best I can do.

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Fiction: Ye Most Lamentable Comedy of Dr. John Doe Faustus

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