“Safety comes with the unconcealed. She must not tell a soul.”

- Jessica Brousseau

“They know everything about you. You share your life, your dreams, your aspirations. In the end, we all fall in love with our best friends.”

- Jessica Brousseau

“People are people. Love is love. That’s what makes the world, keeps it unique. I’m halting ingenuity and genius. Stopping inspiration. Ending love. Ending the world.”

- Jessica Brousseau

As has been the focal issue of this class for the entirety of the semester, it is extremely difficult to convey the historical experience of others. We are forced to develop a new mode of expression, implementing our imagination and intuition, for this problematic matter. This project is the “model” for our original mode of discourse, in which we have implemented various poetic techniques from numerous authors we have read and assemble them in such a manner as to allow the reader to intuit the affect of the character’s experience.

One type of discourse that I deem “innovative”—that I did not read in class—that I implemented in this project, was that of dueling dialogue with limited yet contrasting thought on behalf of the protagonist. Throughout my work, the matter of fact dialogue of the characters can be read, with no action being accounted for. This dialogue is then supplemented with the inner thoughts of the therapist, which are vastly different from the façade she is displaying to the patient, representing the Truth of the situation.

In our various readings in class we have seen authors embed various types of media with their literature, including images and myth. However, the joint assemblage of video, audio, pictures, quotations, and personal anecdote alongside literature is extremely inventive.

The fact that this work is also published on the Internet provides for a quality of originality. When reading literature, it is possible to experience various types of media at the same time, however, it is limited to images, quotations, personal anecdote, and the original story itself—all in the realm of sight. The Internet allows for media from other senses to resonate along with the literature itself, including audio and video. The unique and random assemblage of all types of media from varying senses allows for the reader to personally intuit the affect of the experience being expressed.

2.)

This project has greatly influenced the manner in which I think about the creation of “literature”. Upon entering this class, I had only been acclimated to works in which there is only an original story or personal anecdote.  I had no notion that there were other manners in which to compose. However, now I have been introduced to the ideal of “assemblage”, a manner in which various types of media are randomly intertwined so that the reader and not the author is forced to intuit the affect of the literature itself.

This is incredibly useful when striving to express the experience of disaster, a task which has been deemed nearly impossible to achieve. This type of work and its emphasis on intuition places a more personal and primary task on the reader, allowing for affect to be felt in a greater quality and quantity. When attempting to express those ideals which cannot be easily felt on the secondary level, this is about the best an author can do.

“I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all of the lives I’m not living.”

- Jonathan Foer

- Agnes Repplier

“Dr. Mensonge?”

“I’m sorry, dear, what was that?” Don’t let her into your head. Don’t allow your thoughts to stray. Save her.

“I was just asking if you knew of the film A Florida Enchantment?”

She has certainly done her research. She thinks this is alright. Make her see. Scare her. “Yes I have dear, and may I say it is a blatant attack on modern American values as we know them.” I’m going to hell.

“Why would you say that, Dr. Mensonge? It’s just two men dancing.”

“Just two men dancing? There are multiple references to transexuality and homosexuality. What’s next, interracial marriage and reproduction?” People are people. Love is love. That’s what makes the world, keeps it unique. I’m halting ingenuity and genius. Stopping inspiration. Ending love. Ending the world.

“Someday, Dr. Mensonge, the world will be a much more accepting place. I’m brave. I’ll make them see. I’ll make everyone see.”

Oh god, so naïve, so young, so right. What do I do? What can I do? Tell her about me? No, this is not about me. Show her my journal? My work? My pain? “The world is far too big for you to change, Emma. You’re a child. You’re a female. Add gay to the list and you’re a target for the unjust.”

“Then let the unjust come. I will not conceal who I am to protect myself. I’d rather hurt myself. That is hurting myself.”

How do I lie? Tell her she’s wrong? She’s wiser than everyone. She’s stronger than I am. Maybe she can make it. Maybe she can help. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe she’ll fail. She’s wrong. She’ll fail. “You will be hurt.”

“I don’t care.”

“Emma, they will fabricate a charge and send you to prison. If you don’t want to go to prison, they will make you check into a psychiatric care facility on a “voluntary” basis until you are “cured” of your homosexuality. Electroshock therapy. Oh god, the pain. Do you understand what I am telling you, Emma?”

“You’re telling me to lie?”

I’m telling you to live.

- Johann von Goethe

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“This is a lovely picture, Emma. Who is this?”

“That’s Sappho.”

Why is that familiar? “Sappho?”

“Yes, she was a famous writer of the ancient world, born on the Isle of Lesbos.”

Yes, I know that name. The Isle of Lesbos. What’s next?

“The bulk of her writings were about liberating females, and many of them had homosexual themes. Some believe her work was autobiographical. But you know something funny, Dr. Mensonge?”

There is nothing funny about this. “What, dear?”

“She wasn’t persecuted for her writings, beliefs, or lifestyle.”

She didn’t live in the 1969 Mississippi. You’re about as likely to get beaten here as breathe if you’re gay. “Times were rather different back then. This bothers you?”

“Not that she wasn’t persecuted, no. That’s something to celebrate. It just makes me sad that I can’t be the same way.”

This is tragic. How do I tell her, how do I explain? How can I make her understand that the truth does not always set you free? That the truth can be your ruin? That sometimes happiness need not be disclosed? That sometimes sacrifices must be made to continue living? “That is sad, dear.”

“What does psychology say about me?”

That you’re diseased. That you’re mentally insufficient. They know nothing about you. “Well, the American Psychological Association classifies homosexuality as a form of mental disorder, one that can be cured through reparative therapy.”

“Reparative therapy? As in ‘fixing’ me”

I know, honey, there’s nothing to fix.  But the world thinks you’re sick. How do I do this? Do I tell her she’s sick? Do I threaten her? My head is pounding, I need to lie down. But I can’t leave her. I can’t let her ruin herself. “Exactly. With reparative therapy homosexual tendencies can be reverted to more healthy lifestyle choices.” I sound like a bigot. I’m saving her.

“You think I need to be fixed?”

“I think you need to understand something, Emma.” Scare her. “Are you aware of George Mariority?” Poor soul.

“Who?”

“George Marioirty?” Dead. “Leo Laurence?” Exiled. “The Black Cat Tavern?” Destroyed.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Mensonge. I’ve never heard of any of this.”

Innocent soul. Don’t let her forget. “George Mariority was a gay man who was murdered by two friends in Utah four years ago. He had never even made his homosexuality public.” She could be hurt. “Leo Laurence was the editor of ‘Vector’ magazine. He encouraged gay men and women to organize against society. He was expelled from post earlier this year.” She could become an outcast. “The Black Tavern was a gay bar in Los Angeles that was raided in 1967. The patrons were beaten and arrested, the bar ruined.” Her life could be destroyed.

“…I’m going to have to add those to my book.”

Get through to her. Show her your pain. Make her understand. “Emma, if you disclose your lifestyle, your life could be devastated. People you thought were friends will turn on you. Family will act differently. Strangers will stop and stare, not for your good looks, but because you’re different.”

“Dr. Mensonge, how do you know this?”

We have more in common than you think, Emma. “Because I’ve been through training for this situation, dear. I’ve been to school. I’m also older than you. I know how the world works. This is how the world works. What you’re thinking is unnatural.” It’s as natural as can be.

“But what do you think? As a person? As a friend?”

I think you’re perfect. I think you’re a friend. I think you have so much going for you. That you’re smart. That you’re beautiful. That I’m a hypocrite. That I’m dying. That my heart is pounding out of my chest. That I need to save you. That I must lie. “I think this is wrong. I think you’re sick.”

Why is there a ringing in my ears? Oh god, what do I say? What do I do? “Why do you classify yourself as homosexual, Emma?”

“Because I have been in love with my best friend, Madison, for over five years.”

In love with her best friend. Madison. Madison. I cannot believe this is happening. What do I tell her, to be strong? To hide? Safety comes with the unconcealed. She must not tell a soul. “Have you told Madison this?”

“No, I haven’t had the nerve to be completely honest. But I plan to. I believe she feels the same.”

I must not allow her to make herself vulnerable. If she tells, they’ll report her. Madison, have I heard of Madison? Is she in her book? Is she beautiful? Does she smell to this child like lust? Does she make her breath stop? She’s so young, so in love. I must save her. “Is Madison in your book, Emma?”

“Yes, I’ve written about her. I have other things as well. Things that make me worry. Things I have to hide. Pictures, quotes, books, songs. Myself.”

She must realize this is dangerous, or she wouldn’t go through the trouble of concealing herself. Switch the subject. Make her forget. Dissuade her. “Why don’t you tell me about the things in your book.” I belong in that book.

- William Shakespeare