In Over Her Head by Elsie Russell - Parnasse.com

clear her seething brain. It didn't help. She was in no mood for sitting
today. These people's lives are none of your concern. Except―
She got up and began pacing around the room.
Okay. The meditation helped her to realize that it was the
responsibility of the artist to avoid causing harm, of that she was now
certain. Her original assumption, that the physical properties of the
E.L.F. waves were the cause, made sense for a while, but now, she had
her doubts. She was certain that the very physical and modulating
presence of the deep bass notes opened the audience up psychically.
Everybody knew that. But what happened after that she was not so
sure. She remembered how she felt inside that abomination of a
basilica. Artists risk their sanity by choice. She had physically forced this
upon her listeners by using the E.L.F.'s. Forced them to be modulated
by the invisible forces that she was channeling and for which they were
unprepared. And she had destroyed them in the process.
She thought of a story she'd heard about a techno group that
had locked people into a room with monitors and attempted to alter
their mental states with beats. This wasn't her. She had no interest in
the physical lives of the audience. Yet she'd been dragged there by the
results of her experiments. What if it wasn't the E.L.F. and difference
tones themselves but their instrumentation upon the human psyche
that did the damage? With the help of Science, Beauty could not only
make you sick, it could kill you. This was Stendhal syndrome, turbocharged.
She had forced not only herself but her entire audience to
becoming dangerously open to the angelic voices just as the old man of
the blue flower warned in the book.
One of Ula's first suggestions at the Louvre, in the form of a
taunt, when she had found her staggering before the head of
Pythagoras, and later as they admired the Michelangelo, was that she
was herself a victim of Stendhal syndrome. That had been her suspicion
at the Crillon that evening just before Dr Züt's visit and diagnoses.
Then she had turned her attention to the tech. The angelic had simply
flown out the window with the quiche. She had turned from her
audience to herself. Had lost perspective. Her responsibility with the
angelic voices was the same as for all things―Do no harm. This was in
direct conflict with Ula's assumption that the artist must inflict the truth
onto the viewer, as in her understanding of Michelangelo, or her theater
pieces and especially in her virtual porn with the teledildonics, where
she abused Penny's modulation of the signal, channeling it virtually
through the rubber pussy to the jerk-off on the other end. In this, Ula
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