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In an age when snail mail has been replaced by e-mails, text messages, and instant messages, Germantown resident Frank Warren still receives up to 200 pieces of mail per day. Some are bills or junk mail, but most are postcards from strangers.

One features a cartoon pig, and scrawled in large block letters read "I'm starting rabbinical school and I love bacon!"

Another, written on the back of an envelope, said "Before I go on a trip I write a letter to my family just in case I die."

Five years ago Warren launched the Postsecret project, where he asked strangers write a personal secret on a postcard and send it to him. It has spawned five books and hundreds of thousands of postcards.

"I knew if I could earn the trust of strangers, this could be a very special project," Warren said. "And it has exceeded my greatest expectations."

Warren's latest book, "PostSecret: Confessions on Life, Death, and God," was released on Oct. 6 and sits at number one on the New York Times Bestseller list for hardcover advice books. The book focuses on secrets about spirituality, self-reflection and what Warren calls "the great mysteries in life."

After five years, Warren continues to work on the project because of its impact.

"There are two kinds of secrets: the kinds we keep from each other, and the secrets we keep from ourselves," Warren said. "If someone is able to find the strength to reveal either, then the project has worked."

PostSecret, which launched its Web site, www.postsecret.com, on Jan. 1, 2005, started inauspiciously. Warren handed out blank postcards at Metro stations, or shoved them in library books with instructions on how to return them.

The instructions: write a secret, decorate the postcard if you would like, stick a stamp on it, throw it in a mailbox. Within a month Warren began receiving postcards from around the world. Postsecret.com has received for than a quarter-billion visitors. Still the Germantown husband and father remains grounded, living in the same house at 13345 Copper Ridge Road as he did five years ago.

Everyday hundreds of postcards bound neatly and delivered by his mail carrier, who has a postcard in Warren's latest book. The mailbox has become an art project, covered in writing ranging from "Frank Warren You're My Hero" to "From Cleveland With Love."

For his neighbors, the sudden popularity of Copper Ridge Road five years ago was a shock.

Browsing a bookstore in 2006, Magnum Jones saw a copy of Warren's first book, "PostSecret: Extraordinary Confessions from Ordinary Lives," emblazoned with Warren's address.

He quickly found a store clerk.

"I thought it was my address at first," Jones said. "I asked her if this was a real book."

After determining that it was, Jones asked who the author was. When the clerk opened the book flap to reveal Warren's picture, Jones laughed.

"Oh that's my damn neighbor," he said. "I keep my dog from eating his dog."

Warren's office contains some of his favorite postcards, and some message sent on other canvasses. A secret about a stepfather is on a plastic plate, and a Rubix Cube and fruits and vegetables dot a table. Some come in languages Warren can't read.

Warren keeps all the secrets in a secure location, and says he has lost one postcard.

Each postcard tells a different story. One written on a photo of three uniformed men playing video games reads, "What Iraq was like for me," while another says "To the Class of 1977, I still hate all of you."

Warren, who sees himself as a sort of "accidental artist," said sending a postcard can help people realize things they didn't know about themselves.

"Each one of us has a secret that could break our hearts if we just knew what it was," he said.

Rebecca Alban Hoffberger, founder and director of Baltimore's American Visionary Art Museum, has curated exhibits at the museum using the postcards. She said the only time the museum has remained open past closing time is when people are reading the PostSecret exhibits.

"He's kind of this gentle rock star of consciousness," she said. "I'm awe-struck by his sincerity."

Warren's mother thinks people should keep their secrets to themselves.

"My mom called it diabolical," Warren said. "She left a message for my wife last week saying she didn't want a copy of the new book."

Warren updates the Web site with new secrets on Sundays, visits college campuses where he shares secrets and asks the audience to share, too.