Sunday Scribblings #16 – Dear Diary

What’s the use of keeping secrets?
Some profess the power of The Secret.
You know what? If it’s so fucking important, why is it a bloody secret?
Talk about the privledged “in the know” crowd.
Segregating success through limiting knowledge.
(I can swear liberally in my dear diary, and my dear diary will not label me a “potty mouth”)
Me? No, I believe secrecy is cover for defensiveness, shame, dishonesty, disillusion.
Dear Diary,
there are no secrets in my world.
When I can’t share verbally what I can while writing,
I pass my diary around.
Anyone who really needs to understand me can read it.
Volumes and volumes about me.
My diary is a snapshot of what it’s like to be me.
Filled with streams of consciousness, noteable quote-ables, rants, existentialism, sorrow, drawings, webs of words.
No secrets here folks.
Dear diary, you are an open book.
No censoring, no editing, no shame, no fear.