A worthwhile question. We both chose our lives at home, but we have different options here, don't we? I don't know if I have an answer yet.
It's not something I ever thought would be possible.
[ Once in a while in Etraya he's struck by something innocuous, something like the experience of grief but with complexity to the loss. There is loss, yes, but as Accelerator points out, there are differences here. Opportunities they didn't have before. It's tough to emotionally navigate, and slow-going, like wading through a current of water without being swept away. ]
Yes. I am. Is that too presumptuous of me?
[ He is aware that he's stepping partly into a... familial... sort of role. It's worth asking straightforwardly if Accelerator is even okay with that. Being Harold, he asks in a way that doesn't demand they name it out loud for what it is. He's not sure how comfortable with it he is yet. ]
Oh. [Not having an answer makes sense.] I guess you're not in any rush to figure that out?
[If they're both comfortable and intent on staying here, then why try to speed through things?
Accelerator hesitates before sending the next text. Accepting an adult who isn't horrible in his life isn't easy for him, and even more difficult than that is admitting it. But he was able to do something similar with Last Order, and he'd like to think he's been able to grow from that exchange.]
No. It's just
[God, he can't believe he's typing this next part. It's an amount of emotional honesty that makes him shudder.]
It doesn't feel like something you should be proud of. I was scared the entire time, and the only thing I could think of was how easy it would be to throw him through a wall even though we were in the fucking castle.
And when he left I was just disgusted with myself, for not doing anything and for wanting to be that violent.
[Disgust, shame, fear... all things he had felt that day, and still feels even though it's been weeks.]
I know you said you're judging my actions, not my thoughts and feelings, but it still feels like you should be judging them.
[ He deliberately doesn't add something about how he is at peace about dying without this resolved if that's what John prefers, because he doesn't want to alarm Accelerator. The same way earlier he had thought it but declined to say, He died for me, to save me and for my ideals; I have nothing I could doubt.
What are labels in the face of that? Meanwhile, he's conscientious that Accelerator had needed him to confirm twice that he was proud of him, and considers how to drive the point home. He never intended to become this kind of figure for him -- he hesitates to name it in even in his own mind -- but, just like with the Machine, here it is. He can accept it, or accept the consequences of refusing to. ]
For your fear and disgust I have only compassion. You are not alone in those feelings. Or would you judge me for the same?
[He supposes that if Harold doesn't want to, he can see John being the same way. It's still kind of weird to him, but if neither of them want to then it isn't a problem, is it?
On its own that question isn't difficult to answer, it's when it's surrounded by all that context that it becomes complicated. Or... rather, in Accelerator's mind it does, because the obvious, correct answer means confirming what Harold has just said: that compassion is (and should be) extended to him.
Unsurprisingly, that's a tough pill for Accelerator to swallow. But he does, because despite his own feelings (mainly his self-loathing), he gets that it's the right thing to do.]
He hasn't indicated to me that he does, and I haven't asked.
[ He hesitates, but given the overall emotional honesty he's tacitly demanding of Accelerator in this conversation, he forces himself to go farther. ]
I wouldn't jeopardize what we have for anything.
[ He died for me, Harold thinks again, helplessly, in a very personal way, and then wrenches his mind forward and on. It lands inexorably on Caleb Phipps, once about to throw himself in front of a train and later a pivotal piece of the puzzle to taking down Samaritan. In the wake of failing to save Claire Mahoney, it'd been so easy to forget about the young person he had saved. But then he'd looked at him and said Mr. Swift and offered him anything that he had. ]
Who you are is not a divisible number. No one of us can be distilled to any more elementary piece, any smaller value. Each person is a unique and irrational number, and our component feelings and mistakes and losses can't be precisely quantified enough to pull them out.
Trying to solve for that is like thinking you can find the last digit of pi -- not only is that futile, but you've discovered pi and you're fixated on finding its decimals, like that even matters in the slightest compared to what it is. It's a waste.
So no, I don't judge your feelings. They are a few decimals in an infinite, undefinable number.
[It's an honest question, he's even avoiding any cursing when he types that out. He's aware from cultural osmosis that communication in a relationship, even one you don't define, is important, but with Harold and John's relationship already being so unusual Accelerator isn't sure if talking about it is even necessary for the two of them.
He reads through the rest, the mathematical way Harold is trying to explain this hitting him deeply. He imagines that wouldn't be the case for most people, but he isn't most people.]
It's hard to believe that. For as long as I can remember I've defined the entire goddamn world by solving mathematical formulas, including myself. [He's taking what Harold says seriously though, ruminating on it.] But I guess that's just the easy way out for someone like me, right? It's a lot harder for me to just accept those decimals don't matter.
Maybe not. [ He has to concede that; it's hard to fathom anything could shake the foundation he and John have now, the resolve they have to stick together. That much they have agreed on out loud. ] But it's not the sort of thing you casually slide into conversation.
[ Harold is good at thinking things through -- not so much at talking. His painfully precise, articulate manner of speech is partly a deliberate attempt to make up for that.
It's such a relief to see that his words hit home somehow. Harold cares so desperately about getting this right. ]
You have so much control over the world around you, I can imagine it's frustrating for there to be elements outside of that control, especially within yourself. But our minds do not work rationally, so attempting to corral your thoughts and feelings (or anyone else's) with rationality is a bit of a fool's errand.
I have two books I might suggest for you if you want more thinking on this topic that isn't me waxing eloquent over the text messaging system.
Yeah, it isn't. I have no idea how you'd talk to him about it.
[Maybe, given that it's Harold and John, it isn't worth bringing up.]
Well, at least you get how this pisses me off.
[Leave it to Harold to be able to understand the complex situation about how his ability affects his feelings. It makes him feel a little less heavy knowing there's at least one person here who understands his frustrations.]
I don't mind the verbosity, but I'll take the book titles anyways.
[ Accelerator had been pushing so much on what John and Harold were to one another, Harold is a little surprised to see him acquiesce so easily, but maybe it was pure curiosity toward a topic that was rarely openly discussed. He's also not sure what to make of being reassured Accelerator doesn't mind him going on at length, so he doesn't address it.
However good he is at coming off as sure of himself in interpersonal interactions, he really has spent a lifetime avoiding sincere connection. ]
I'd venture to say it's one of the most enduring frustrations of the human condition, if that consoles you any. Your circumstances may be exceptional, but nothing about your feelings regarding them has surprised me.
Here are two books, but it would not be a challenge to come up with a plethora more.
Non-fiction, a primer on research into human thought processes by a psychologist who won a Nobel in economics:
Thinking, Fast and Slow, by Daniel Kahneman (2011)
Fiction, a seminal work on authoritarianism that serves as an effective treatise on the dangers of trying to control thought:
1984, by George Orwell (1949)
[So... if anything, this is just reinforcing his humanity? This is like when that Level 0 died, how even though he didn't feel it in the moment he needed to remember that his humanity still exists, in some form.]
That feels hard to believe.
[Before talking to Harold he had felt so isolated.]
But that's good, I guess. If you aren't surprised then that means my head isn't as fucking messed up as it feels.
[At least, he knows he has Harold who understands what he's going through, and that means a lot to him.]
I'm never going to say no to more books. I'll look both of these up to start with. I know George Orwell.
Believe me, feeling at your age that what you're going through is something completely new and never before experienced by another human being is utterly banal and to be expected. We've all gone through it -- I certainly have.
I gave you recommendations I felt were likely to be to your taste, but I have to admit that mine is more sentimental. I was reading Rilke again recently (an early 20th century German poet; Rainer Maria Rilke) and he is known apart from his poetry for a collection of letters he wrote to his protégé. Who, I must say, was older then than you are now. Here is an excerpt:
You are so young, all beginning is so far in front of you, and I should like to beg you earnestly to have patience with all unsolved problems in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms, or books that are written in a foreign tongue. Do not search now for the answers, which cannot be given you, because you could not live them. That is the point, to live everything. Now you must live your problems. And perhaps gradually, without noticing it, you will live your way into the answer some distant day.
Shit, you're making me sound like a normal goddamn teenager.
Rilke, huh? Never heard of him, but he's a powerful writer. [He enjoyed reading that. It must have meant a lot to the protégé.] And it sounds like when he wrote that he had lived a hell of a life.
I'm sorry to say that apart from the brain damage and the ability to dismantle reality, you seem exceedingly normal to me.
[ He thinks he can trust by now that Accelerator will find any candid jabs a mark of respect and not mockery. ]
I'm glad you liked it. It's always stuck with me. He was a complicated man -- born in Austria at the advent of World War I, he saw the worst of humanity but hoped there could still be something better. The book 1984, actually, is a commentary on the society Rilke found himself admiring.
I wouldn't know. Maybe they weren't, maybe they just didn't give a shit. It's not like any of those researchers liked me.
[So why would they ever bother?]
I guess I am. I've read poetry for school and didn't hate it. I never read it for fun back home, but we've got so much downtime here that I don't see why I shouldn't try expanding my fucking genre preferences.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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It's not something I ever thought would be possible.
[ Once in a while in Etraya he's struck by something innocuous, something like the experience of grief but with complexity to the loss. There is loss, yes, but as Accelerator points out, there are differences here. Opportunities they didn't have before. It's tough to emotionally navigate, and slow-going, like wading through a current of water without being swept away. ]
Yes. I am. Is that too presumptuous of me?
[ He is aware that he's stepping partly into a... familial... sort of role. It's worth asking straightforwardly if Accelerator is even okay with that. Being Harold, he asks in a way that doesn't demand they name it out loud for what it is. He's not sure how comfortable with it he is yet. ]
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[If they're both comfortable and intent on staying here, then why try to speed through things?
Accelerator hesitates before sending the next text. Accepting an adult who isn't horrible in his life isn't easy for him, and even more difficult than that is admitting it. But he was able to do something similar with Last Order, and he'd like to think he's been able to grow from that exchange.]
No. It's just
[God, he can't believe he's typing this next part. It's an amount of emotional honesty that makes him shudder.]
It doesn't feel like something you should be proud of. I was scared the entire time, and the only thing I could think of was how easy it would be to throw him through a wall even though we were in the fucking castle.
And when he left I was just disgusted with myself, for not doing anything and for wanting to be that violent.
[Disgust, shame, fear... all things he had felt that day, and still feels even though it's been weeks.]
I know you said you're judging my actions, not my thoughts and feelings, but it still feels like you should be judging them.
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[ He deliberately doesn't add something about how he is at peace about dying without this resolved if that's what John prefers, because he doesn't want to alarm Accelerator. The same way earlier he had thought it but declined to say, He died for me, to save me and for my ideals; I have nothing I could doubt.
What are labels in the face of that? Meanwhile, he's conscientious that Accelerator had needed him to confirm twice that he was proud of him, and considers how to drive the point home. He never intended to become this kind of figure for him -- he hesitates to name it in even in his own mind -- but, just like with the Machine, here it is. He can accept it, or accept the consequences of refusing to. ]
For your fear and disgust I have only compassion. You are not alone in those feelings. Or would you judge me for the same?
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[He supposes that if Harold doesn't want to, he can see John being the same way. It's still kind of weird to him, but if neither of them want to then it isn't a problem, is it?
On its own that question isn't difficult to answer, it's when it's surrounded by all that context that it becomes complicated. Or... rather, in Accelerator's mind it does, because the obvious, correct answer means confirming what Harold has just said: that compassion is (and should be) extended to him.
Unsurprisingly, that's a tough pill for Accelerator to swallow. But he does, because despite his own feelings (mainly his self-loathing), he gets that it's the right thing to do.]
No. I wouldn't.
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[ He hesitates, but given the overall emotional honesty he's tacitly demanding of Accelerator in this conversation, he forces himself to go farther. ]
I wouldn't jeopardize what we have for anything.
[ He died for me, Harold thinks again, helplessly, in a very personal way, and then wrenches his mind forward and on. It lands inexorably on Caleb Phipps, once about to throw himself in front of a train and later a pivotal piece of the puzzle to taking down Samaritan. In the wake of failing to save Claire Mahoney, it'd been so easy to forget about the young person he had saved. But then he'd looked at him and said Mr. Swift and offered him anything that he had. ]
Who you are is not a divisible number. No one of us can be distilled to any more elementary piece, any smaller value. Each person is a unique and irrational number, and our component feelings and mistakes and losses can't be precisely quantified enough to pull them out.
Trying to solve for that is like thinking you can find the last digit of pi -- not only is that futile, but you've discovered pi and you're fixated on finding its decimals, like that even matters in the slightest compared to what it is. It's a waste.
So no, I don't judge your feelings. They are a few decimals in an infinite, undefinable number.
no subject
[It's an honest question, he's even avoiding any cursing when he types that out. He's aware from cultural osmosis that communication in a relationship, even one you don't define, is important, but with Harold and John's relationship already being so unusual Accelerator isn't sure if talking about it is even necessary for the two of them.
He reads through the rest, the mathematical way Harold is trying to explain this hitting him deeply. He imagines that wouldn't be the case for most people, but he isn't most people.]
It's hard to believe that. For as long as I can remember I've defined the entire goddamn world by solving mathematical formulas, including myself. [He's taking what Harold says seriously though, ruminating on it.] But I guess that's just the easy way out for someone like me, right? It's a lot harder for me to just accept those decimals don't matter.
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[ Harold is good at thinking things through -- not so much at talking. His painfully precise, articulate manner of speech is partly a deliberate attempt to make up for that.
It's such a relief to see that his words hit home somehow. Harold cares so desperately about getting this right. ]
You have so much control over the world around you, I can imagine it's frustrating for there to be elements outside of that control, especially within yourself. But our minds do not work rationally, so attempting to corral your thoughts and feelings (or anyone else's) with rationality is a bit of a fool's errand.
I have two books I might suggest for you if you want more thinking on this topic that isn't me waxing eloquent over the text messaging system.
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[Maybe, given that it's Harold and John, it isn't worth bringing up.]
Well, at least you get how this pisses me off.
[Leave it to Harold to be able to understand the complex situation about how his ability affects his feelings. It makes him feel a little less heavy knowing there's at least one person here who understands his frustrations.]
I don't mind the verbosity, but I'll take the book titles anyways.
no subject
[ Accelerator had been pushing so much on what John and Harold were to one another, Harold is a little surprised to see him acquiesce so easily, but maybe it was pure curiosity toward a topic that was rarely openly discussed. He's also not sure what to make of being reassured Accelerator doesn't mind him going on at length, so he doesn't address it.
However good he is at coming off as sure of himself in interpersonal interactions, he really has spent a lifetime avoiding sincere connection. ]
I'd venture to say it's one of the most enduring frustrations of the human condition, if that consoles you any. Your circumstances may be exceptional, but nothing about your feelings regarding them has surprised me.
Here are two books, but it would not be a challenge to come up with a plethora more.
Thinking, Fast and Slow, by Daniel Kahneman (2011)
1984, by George Orwell (1949)
no subject
That feels hard to believe.
[Before talking to Harold he had felt so isolated.]
But that's good, I guess. If you aren't surprised then that means my head isn't as fucking messed up as it feels.
[At least, he knows he has Harold who understands what he's going through, and that means a lot to him.]
I'm never going to say no to more books. I'll look both of these up to start with. I know George Orwell.
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I gave you recommendations I felt were likely to be to your taste, but I have to admit that mine is more sentimental. I was reading Rilke again recently (an early 20th century German poet; Rainer Maria Rilke) and he is known apart from his poetry for a collection of letters he wrote to his protégé. Who, I must say, was older then than you are now. Here is an excerpt:
no subject
Rilke, huh? Never heard of him, but he's a powerful writer. [He enjoyed reading that. It must have meant a lot to the protégé.] And it sounds like when he wrote that he had lived a hell of a life.
no subject
[ He thinks he can trust by now that Accelerator will find any candid jabs a mark of respect and not mockery. ]
I'm glad you liked it. It's always stuck with me. He was a complicated man -- born in Austria at the advent of World War I, he saw the worst of humanity but hoped there could still be something better. The book 1984, actually, is a commentary on the society Rilke found himself admiring.
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[Not that Harold couldn't guess that on his own at this point.]
Really? You got a couple books of his you can recommend, too?
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[ In other words, he'd have to let them in for them to even observe it to be the case. ]
Are you interested in poetry? The letters themselves are collected in a volume titled Letters to a Young Poet.
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[So why would they ever bother?]
I guess I am. I've read poetry for school and didn't hate it. I never read it for fun back home, but we've got so much downtime here that I don't see why I shouldn't try expanding my fucking genre preferences.