I have been reading postsecret a couple of weeks now, and I am greatly amazed at the way each of us react to it, and even more amazed to hear of people getting in line to tell their secrets (I don't know if publicly or not) in the postsecret live events.
Also interesting was to find out that there is such a thing as a speakers bureau, and I suppose it ain't unique otherwise Harper Collins wouldn't have put their name on theirs.
I had this girlfriend with whom I used to daydream about going into a confessional and tell of horrible sins we hadn't really committed just to try to make the listening priest scream in surprise. We really never tried it, it would have been cool.
Any way, I can't fully figure out why we like reading strangers' secrets, and why people like their secrets read by strangers. I think my case is that of a need for intimacy, there isn't really any one who trusts me as much as those strangers and therefore I try to fill that void by peeking into other people's lives. Taking a look around me at school and on the subway I have come to believe that I am not the only one in such a situation, nor am I the only one who has fallen into a routine, at least in the personal relations perspective, that anything out of usual is more than welcome, even if just a story. I suspected that reading personal blogs was a sing of lack of intimate social life (take no offense, I'm one of you), but all this reading has made me become totally sure of it.
But that only solves half of it. Why do people tell secrets aloud to strangers? Why do I enjoy doing it to some extent? Maybe it's part of the same, of wanting someone to know things so deep inside of you, so that that knowledge constitutes a sort of bond.
Any way... one of my favorite TV shows of all times was called "Secret Service" and it was about this really cool cases USSS agents had to solve. All of them, of course, had to do with embassy protection & counterfeit money, yet there was this really cool episode on the Reagen assassination attempt.
The only blog not featuring an ipod.
Three.
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Alguien me habló todos los días de mi vida al oido, despacio, lentamente. Me dijo: ¡vive, vive, vive! Era la muerte. (JS)
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