Cooksey Conveyance, Secondary Submissions

How frozen and how faint I then became,
Ask me not, reader! for I write it not;
Since words would fail to tell thee of my state.
I was not dead nor living.--La Divina Commedia, Canto 34.22-26

Since I do not have the wherewithal to play detective and find the contact information for Jon Cooksey's production company that he runs with his spouse, Ali Marie Matheson, which is less awkward than my full name written long, this is an open post to the couple, for the time being, to advocate for The Collector's return, perhaps as a digital exclusive for Amazon Prime members, even if Chris Kramer isn't available, we could reinvent the wheel. I am not sure if my viewers on Blogger know that I was approached by the casting directors of the Exorcist franchise to play the institutionalized cripple in distress against Linda Blair, but I was, when I lived at Rusk. Decent place, but those same domicile old maidens who field American case management systems like the plague, then as now, prevented me from earning some decent money for college tuition. The evil cripple syndrome is what led Presby, and its hypocritical motherfuckers, to attack me ceaselessly in the 28 years they have been my landlord, so why not take a shot at being Satan? A cold and chilling inanimate Satan, the way Dante Alighieri properly conceived its menace. We could use exacerbations for high brow special effects. What is hell, after all, but a chronic obstruction?

Your original series wasn't perfect. Something about that pinched Canadian mien, care worn, genteel, submissive, leaves your actors at a loss, like the monastery abbot in 1348 A.D. While it may be true you have roughly fifty minutes of air time, you seemingly overlooked the power of the cardinals who burned the damned during the Inquisition. Morgan Pym's keepers did not provide much of a contest against evil. Yet it is equally true your vision was more realistic, bleaker than your American counterparts who also dabble in the genre. Maya was a brave child of incest. This would probably place you in agreement with Jessica Valenti.

Some may not be comfortable viewing women as an oppressed class across the spectrum, and certain issues surrounding domestication, and the stodgy matron upholding propriety, this may undercut how Ms Valenti frames sexism in sociological terms. Then again, I haven't been shy about the price of my survival, which has included homosexual vicissitudes, as well as female on female and minority victimization. And then there's this charming buzz bit. WTF indeed, or is aborting for sex selection more sinister still?

My caustic tongue seems quaint in comparison. This is why we need a revival of your series, and its struggle for a moral center; if I can generate enough interest to bring it out of mothballs give me a buzz. I'd like to recoup on my quashed foray into the industry.