Two in the morning

I have fears that my pen will not glean my teeming brain because the internet sucks so badly.

I would like to make a film about the petty political machinations behind either high school or low level collegiate faculty. The vying for power, the biting and stabbing of the back, the whispers. The protagonist is a befuddled young assistant professor, who, despite a good amount of painful self consciousness, does not, and cannot realize how much he is despised, until he is used as a puppet. Over the course of a school years he rises to prominence with the aid of a shadowy older professor. Tragically our sad little professor reaches the top and, like the characters in the plays he teaches, he can only spiral down. Finally, in a fit of wild jealousy prompted by the old professor's sexual acquisition of his favorite student, he murders the old man and himself. Or, more likely he fails to do so and is shamed out of his community.

I love the quaintness of the mountain folk, with their crystal cold water and their wax lips.

The old professor booted from power for his too openly Machieavelian scheming enlists our protagonist, too painfully self-conscious to be hated, and just a little too pompous to be loved, as his puppet plucking him from the deep end of mediocrity and erecting him, over the course of the year, to the status of president. Dizzied and befuddled the professor cannot realize that the presidency of his small liberal arts college means nothing.

I love the quietness of the moulding fold, with its corn cob chronicles and its wax lisps.

Our little professor holds sway over the aesthetically enchanting little college, autumnal in autumn, vernal in venery, but it does not afford him any knowledge of himself. A comedy, is when the dignity of the tragedy has been- short story to follow soon, scratch out that nonsense about killing though, that's too dignified for my characters. We must all wallow in our own splendid silliness.