Diary of a fallen angel

by Simon Welsh in Dawlish, England, United Kingdom

Diary of a fallen angel
Not quite
Unfortunately this project was not successful.

I was raising money to pay fora 30 minute short, to be shown at Cannes. But we secured the interest we needed so strongly we didn't need it

by Simon Welsh in Dawlish, England, United Kingdom

A soul destroying journey into the promiscuous darkness of London’s gay sex world that will ultimately lead to retribution through ruin.

The first part of a nail biting trilogy that will have you in fits of laughter and floods of tears almost back to back.  “Emotional rollercoaster” doesn’t do justice to what this story may do to you.

Film 1 Synopsis:

The story opens at Heathrow airport, our protagonist dismounting a plane and returning to Brixton.  He has been walking through Spain for the last 6 weeks, trying to escape a life of addiction. Reference is made to Unicorns, miracles, banquets of strangers, telepathy, magic and friendship. 

And now he returns to “the thick of the party that never ends, fuelled by the insatiable masculine desire to be carnal and hungry and play in the shadows.”  As he makes his way into the underground he starts to get an erection and recalls how the life he has been trying to run away from is still alive and well in his pants and his heart, filled with the recent memories of Turkish princes, goblins and other dark forces, unspeakable acts of depravity, masses of sex and tonnes of drugs.

As he arrives back at his lodgings in Brixton, social media wakes up on his phone, and one of his chemsex buddies is already on his doorstep armed with an array of drugs and a rock hard trumpet.  Our protagonist freezes; the choice before him – high road or low road.  Cut.

Back track 7 months – and we begin to see how this cocky foolish yet charming fellow got himself so heavily embroiled in London’s chemsex phenomenon in the first place.  A harmless little sex party; a Turkish prince who smelt like home; forging connections of the heart in the shadowy world of the 24 hour party perverts; infatuation; invitations to explore intravenous drugs; a spiritual abduction by one of Hell’s ferrymen; an assault by dark invisible forces; witchcraft; flashbacks; nightmares and the birth of a dragon; all told through the eyes of a man who is falling in love not only with the man who smells like home, but with everything he looks at during this dark unfolding journey into a real place that overlays London like tracing paper, invisible to the naked eye unless you are already in contact with the dark forces you unwittingly opened the door to when you stuck those drugs in your arm: some doors you open … don’t close.

After a terrifying adventure into some of the most forbidden sexual and emotional places, the story ends on a cliff hanger, with our protagonist boarding a plane at Heathrow airport to embark on the journey that he hopes will allow him to retrieve his soul from the clutches of Hell; we already have an idea that his plan will not be successful as chapter 1 has gently suggested.  Our heart aches for the protagonist.  We see his plight but we can’t help.  All we can do is pray for a miracle.

Book 2/Film 2 focuses on "The 40 pilgrims project" the walking adventure that takes our protagonist across Spain on a thousand km adventure on foot from Irun to Finisterre (the end of the world) over a period of 40 days.

Book 3/Film 3 picks up the story at Heathrow airport, exactly where book 1 started, and the story continues from there into further darkness, culminating in a series of angelic interventions and an opportunity for a brand new start.  From the depths of the darkness we ride the wings of angels up into the light of truth and visibility, finally landing in the picturesque seaside town of Dawlish, Devon.

That's exactly how it happened.

I met my agent in 2015.  She liked my poetry very much.  I can't remember how we ended up going for a drink together but by the end of that first meeting I had pretty much told her everything about having become a man who follows his groin wherever it wants to go, the catharsis I felt at transforming from the little fat boy who hated school showers because he had little boy tits, into the big hairy man with a nice big trumpet who knows how to put everyone else at their ease at a sex party, even when we're all flying high and only just able to see.  I told her a story about watching little black goblins (made of shadows) body-swapping, jumping in and out of guys at the party while they were getting up to all sorts of carnal activities all over the room.

"Simon," she said when I had finished, "This story MUST be heard by as many people as possible.  I'd like you to start writing it immediately."

I believe that this project has the ability to change the way we think and talk about sex in public spaces, how we provide young people with the kind of sexual education they can actually use, how we relate to ourselves sexually, our sexuality, or desires and our urges.  And I believe that by shedding light on my own colourful sexual history, others might feel comfortable to step out of the shadow of shame and into the light of self acceptance.

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