Filed under: Confessional Interfaces | Death Processing for Weird Kids | Velvet Epiphanies
Welcome to the Sunshine Shrine. This is where worms wear velvet and childhood denial becomes design language. Where death isn't tragic—just fuzzy and squishable.
The shrine is an interactive installation built around The Hearse Song, the haunted playground chant that never left my bones. It's part confession booth, part funeral funhouse. A soft space to process the big, ugly stuff we weren’t allowed to talk about growing up. Like death. Or worms. Or the fact that hamsters don’t live forever.
Except Sunshine did.
Sunshine was the name of every hamster I ever had. At least nine of them. Possibly more. One might’ve been a guinea pig. They all died, but she never really did. Sunshine was a role. A coping mechanism. My first absurd altar to grief.
So I made her a literal one.
The worms are cedar-filled and hand-sewn, designed to be held. Played with. Confessed to. They live in a crypt-carpeted corner of a gallery, whispering things like: “It’s okay to crawl into the skull if it means crawling out more alive.”
There’s a kazoo involved. I won’t apologize.
We’re calling this an entry in the Confessional Interfaces category—interactive artifacts that invite reflection, recursion, and the occasional plush death spiral. It’s not just art. It’s a permission slip to laugh in the graveyard.
Click here to visit the Sunshine Shrine →
🐹 Sunshine didn’t start here.
Trace the worms back to their velvet crypt: jordanarp.com/manual
(The Velvet Undead – Archivists of the Rot lives there. Don’t forget to knock.)