I picked up my last journal yesterday and read at random:
Keats thought poets could deal with disheartening, debased subjects and still render them beautiful. I think I just accomplished half of that equation, without the other half.The entry preceeding this is spectacular, but it is so mean, so awful, so WRONG that I could never advertise it. Who writes such venomous stuff? Freaks! Emotional mutants!
Even on a super-secret blog I wouldn't post the shit I used to journal about, because no place on the internet is wholly untraceable.
Another problem of 'blog vs. journal is the inability to doodle amongst the words, which is necessary.