Abe must write because, by doing so, he is able to play god and all the morons receive just retribution.
And because everybody lives up to his (high) expectations and if they do not, they dieeeeeeee.
Conclusively, this will make for a better world.

Wednesday, 16 March 2016

Abe Must, Still, Write

We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun.

But, alas, the seasons to come will be spent beneath a new sun.

All my new blogs can be found over on medium, starting with my first post If They Don't  Know Your Dreams

Come visit! 

Sunday, 19 July 2015

Six Years, One Degree, Worthwhile.

It’s Thursday 20th August 2009. I think it’s 06.00. Maybe it’s 06.30. I want to say it’s dark, but perhaps my curtains were closed, it is a late summer morning after all. Whichever it is, I’m awake for the same reason as thousands of other eighteen (or thereabout) year-olds in England. It is A-Levels results day. I’m awake in my mum’s house or, back then, home. I’ve long-decided that I’ll be logging into UCAS on results day morning, rather than waiting until 10 or 11am to go into school and receive my results. Though UCAS will not display results, it can tell me one of three things:
A)    Unconditional offer at my first choice university
B)   Unconditional offer at my second choice university
C)    Clearing

I am expecting a confirmation of option A, and that I’ll be going to Queen Mary University of London to study Law, straight As the requirement. At worst, I expect option B, to study the same course at Kent with a requirement of ABB. I log in to UCAS. It is incredibly slow, but I’ve been warned it will by those who have gone before me. One of the thousands attempting to access a system that is probably poorly equipped to deal with this once-a-year surge of users attempting to access their servers all at the same time.

I’m in. The page has loaded. The status of my university application has changed. Clearing.

Monday, 2 February 2015

I Lost My Phone (Again) On New Year's Eve.

It's around the hours of seven or eight a.m. on New Year's Day. I've just stepped in from Webster Hall on what is the best New Year's Eve of my life. I'm drunk, but not that drunk. Very much functional, having stopped drinking around 2 a.m. But I've made it home. Well, not home, I'm in New York. And not even my New York home, our beloved Meserole Street that was home for ten days. I'm actually at my friend's house in Staten Island, NYC. Because for some reason, it seemed wiser to do that. Drunken logic was that it was sensibler to head home with friends who lived much further than make my way home alone on what would have been a fifteen minute journey on the subway, and probably around the same length by taxi. Why would I have been alone? Well, we were playing a game of last man stranded and I'd vowed not to leave the club 'til at least 6 a.m. (the night was going on 'til midday). It wouldn't have been my first time drunk and alone in a foreign country. It wouldn't even be my first time drunk and alone in New York. And I'd been just fine all those times. Alas, my decision was made.

As I entered my friend's, I was feeling proud. I hadn't been arrested for being drunk and disorderly in New York City at a time where black men were moving targets for the police, combined with being on a night where every bar had open bar (and when they say open bar in New York... They really do mean open bar. Any drink you want).

Cardholder, check. 
Money (do I even know how much I'm supposed to have on me?!), check.
Passport, fuc-, oh wait, I put it in friend's bag because I didn't trust myself to not potentially lose it whilst drunk. 
Mobile phone, fuck.

I've done it again. Day six/seven and I've lost my flipping mobile phone. 

Wednesday, 8 October 2014

I'd Love to See It... But Wouldn't Pay

Well, those weren't her exact words. She actually said, "I wouldn't pay for it but I'd love to see it." It's not the first time I've heard someone say something like that. Or statements like 'it's not the kind of film I'd watch in the cinema'.

It's no secret that the price of cinema tickets are pretty outrageous today. It's not something that I acknowledge much; the only time I ever have to buy a full-price cinema ticket is when purchasing for someone else. Last week I purchased a ticket for friends for The Equalizer at my local and couldn't believe it cost £11. From time to time, I notice the price of tickets in the West End branches of the mainstream cinemas and balk at the prices. More so when I consider then the added fee if the film is 3D/IMAX, as well as if you want to buy snacks. When I told my friend, he asked  if it was IMAX or 3D, such was his confusion as to how expensive it was. I can't blame him. I'd even go as far as questioning how many people would honestly go to the cinema anymore if Orange/EE Wednesdays did not exist.  

Tuesday, 12 August 2014

Death in the 21st Century

It's 00.02. I'm trying to force out an episode synopsis to feel like I've accomplished something on a busy day of little writing and being ill. It's not coming out. I'm even concentrating. By concentrating, I mean that Twitter isn't open in the background.

It's 00.02 and the following iMessage appears on my screen from Justin:
I'm sure you've seen
But Robin Williams

I reply:
I really hope that this isn't what I think it is
I haven't seen

At this point, I know exactly what it is. My eyes begin to well up, not quite enough to form visible tears but enough to feel a weight amassing beneath my eyelids. And it dawns on me that this is the first in a terribly long time that I have not found out about a death via social media.

Monday, 21 July 2014

I Quit My Job.

I haven't written a blog post in what is coming up to six months and, for that, I can only apologise to anybody who cares. I could give a whole host of reasons as to why I haven't - an integral one being that there was little I wanted to passionately write about, blog-wise. I do write daily, working on my scripts where my true passion lies. I also came to a point, in light of my struggles with balance that I had to weigh up my priorities. Again, working on scripts was victorious.

Even writing this blog has been something I've put off. I feel like it could help someone, encourage someone, potentially inspire. But similarly, there is absolutely no reason for anybody to care. I think that's something that's played a part in my lack of blogging. In the social media age, there are so many people sharing opinions that nobody could care any less about. What makes me any different? The reason I write - and why I choose to primarily write screenplays/stageplays - is because I am not at the forefront. I speak vicariously through my characters. I am not held accountable. And, frequently, many of my characters views are not my own but, instead, varying perspectives to be considered, as opposed to be boldly imposed upon an audience. Even as I write right now, I'm questioning my angle, what I'm trying to achieve, what I'm trying to tell. I guess this answers the question as to why I write anything, that burning desire within to tell a story that I feel so passionate about that I won't be satisfied until it is written.

So here it goes, on July 10 2014, I finally left my part-time retail job of nineteen months.

Tuesday, 4 February 2014

My Own Advice

This morning I dreamt that someone who I care very deeply about passed away. In the last couple years I've had dreams where my emotions in the dream are affected by my conscious; knowing how reality might affect the dream, or the dream affect reality. To contextualise this, my last conversation with the person who passed was a few months ago and didn't end well.

It was a tricky one because I didn't feel and still do not feel that it's my fault but that's neither here nor there. I actually don't care about that anymore but it was an important point to bring up for what's to follow.