Black Friday 23rd November 2018.

I can't quite explain why, but I really dislike the Tiled Hall in Leeds Gallery. Maybe it is the bright light or the constant coffee echoes or the disappearing disappointing people? Coming here to be involved in something "social", but why can't I connect: the greyhaired lady wants me to fill in a form, but I feel that is a bit much; formalities. The sound is similar to the one a swimming-pool projects. People ask my name. People laugh. They are going to Morley next week ...

Will I ever see the luminous. When will I overcome this barrier. It seems irrational to keep up the Illusion of any sensibility. It is an impenetrable nothing, yet it remains blocking me. And here I sit to await the toiling of a bell. How much of me wants thermonuclear war to rip it all up?

Total apathy. Even the barfly buzz is banal and any odour I deport must be riddled with vile corrosion. It is Black "fucking" Friday. It has crept into the very souls of these many folks for whom I must hope. Exterminate the brutes.