The following are scanned pages from a personal
journal typed on 1960's manual secretarial machines.


Bradley Sills is a nom de plume. The pages are posted as-is,
save for the removal of names of others. I hope to update the
blog a half dozen times a month. The posts may not necessarily
be in chronological order, but most of the scans are dated.
I'll try to keep them in order.

All my love, Bradley Sills

9.10.2011

Sept 10, 2011 (Burn II)

3 comments:

  1. You are bolder than I. Sometimes I think about keeping a diary but I quickly dismiss the thought. There aren't any secrets on paper. Why don't I want people to know the contents of my mind? What makes you not care? What made you send me a link to this?

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  2. Hey first Anonymous, I can't remember who I sent links to earlier. It was only a few people, I just can't recall, sorry! No way to know who you are, unfortunately. You can post back, though, & hopefully you'll see this reply.

    You know, posting my personal journals is already so scary that I thought, fuck it, I'll go the distance and put the REALLY personal stuff on the blog. Everyone has a bizarre inner world, but some find ways to bury it so deeply that they don't even know it's there.

    I'd been encouraged by several people to start a blog. This is the kind of stuff I write about. I try to be super confrontational with myself. It's taken years to start to knock down the defenses that prevent me from being honest with myself about what I really think and feel. A daily journal practice has made all the difference.

    There's a thrill in seeing your inner world deposited on paper. All that fear, denial, self-loathing, and even secret joy and desire begin to emerge, and you can go as deep as you want. I'm an obsessive writer, though; it's not everybody's cup of tea. Try journalling, it might be for you.

    Truth is, I keep a journal or diary because I wish others would. When someone passes away without leaving anything but grocery lists and a file drawer full of paid bills, they are only known by those closest to them, and that memory fades. I want to try to use language to create a makeshift consciousness that goes on

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