Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Confession Is An Art

"Confession, alas, is the new handshake." Richard Rosen

You cheated. You lied. You said that you loved her. You stole. You slept with the boss. You drove drunk. You broke a commandment ... or two ... or ten.

You know you were wrong. You feel guilty. Ashamed. Stupid. And increasingly defensive.

Little by little, it eats away at your peace of mind.

You manage to suppress it as you go through your daily routine. Then BAM, the magnitude of your transgression hits you like a freight train. And you get that inner shudder of embarrassment, that creepy What Was I Thinking? feeling.

You know you have to do something to ease your twinging conscience.

If you're a practicing Catholic, you might go to Confession, spill it all to your parish priest in return for penance and absolution.

But what can the rest of us non-Catholic ordinary sinners do? No worries, bubbela, have I got a place for you.

Our space-aged, micro waved, Interneted, palm piloted, cell phoned culture of instant gratification has a new way to handle guilt and sin:

Mail it in.

Yep. A site called is currently soliciting your confessions. By mail.

Confess anonymously. Share anything. The confession can be as brief or detailed as you want. It just needs to fit in a standard mail slot.
How much easier could it be? Put your guilty confession in an envelope--no stamp needed--and drop it in one of 11 conveniently located mailboxes around Philadelphia.

Oh, did I mention this is part of an art project opening September 1 at Philly's Third Street Gallery? Presumably the confessions will be used in artful ways.

Just think, in one quick move you can get your guilt off your chest, avoid responsibility for your actions and contribute to The Arts.

A Get-Out-of-Jail-Free hat trick. How much more Philly can you get.

Sept 3, PS ... The Show is now open, but they're soliciting our confessions through Sept 16. Mine's already in there. Really.



Blogger The Fez Monkey said...

Imagine how awkward it might be to walk in to Philly's 3rd St. Gallery with, say your wife/hubby, and see on the wall a letter written in their hand describing the incredible sex they've been having with your sister/brother.

I wonder if the excuse, "You don't understand, it was for art!" would work?

Ook ook

11:10 AM  

Post a Comment

<< Home