En 42-57 Hello Ahmed,...

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“What languages ;;can you speak to me?”
“Well, my native is Berber, you are genetically a Berber. In general, I understand any language, even Spanish, even Russian ..”
“I don't know Russian!”
“You don't need to. I know. All people are ultimately of the same blood genetically. There is your, human, original language. It is embedded in every cell of your body. It clearly manifests itself in your behavior, language, thoughts. There are only slight changes in time and from nation to nation, so little that I can understand any person, no matter who he is. The language of nature is universal. Well, with you I speak common Arabic more often, don't you notice? You hardly know Berber. It’s true, you often get lost in French. Occasionally you think something in Japanese, but only when it is shorter and more capacious to think in Japanese than in any other language. But you and I are not talking, but we are really thinking, we are talking silently now.”
“Yes? I didn't notice. I thought everyone hears what you say to me.”
“Ah ... well, yeah... Now you can only think...so that you don't get misunderstandings with people. ...And I thought: why does he run from people when I talk to him? Haha.”
“I have always believed that we think in images, and words are secondary.”
“When you are 49, everything is so interconnected that the words themselves become complex monster images. Therefore, the meaning of both words and images is so vague. Every year there are more and more of these images, they are more and more complex, they contain more and more connections and themselves become part of even more complex images...and so on endlessly. In general, things seem to be clearer, but more complicated and confusing. The only thing that remains unchanged is the base, the proto-language of your body, in which you and I can understand each other without words at all ... we would be able to understand if you could always hear this language.”                “Don't I always hear it?”                “Often you cling to the complex, finding it more interesting. As a real snob, you don't like to simplify things. You like to speculate, like most people, and so you do not notice the really important things.”                “So, everything I know is unimportant, but really important things I missed?”        “Don't sell yourself short on what you know... You yourself do not know what you know and, of course, you do not know what you do not know.”                “ Ah ...?”
“Hmmm... I have learned that there are times when you need to speak of things to get them off your chest instead of keeping bottled up inside and increasing their complexity.
When you speak out loud, in simple words, you get rid of excessive difficulties: speaking out loud is too fast for the human brain to create additional difficulties in the mind of the listener, and even more so, of the speaker. If what is said out loud is too difficult, no one will understand anything. Therefore, all unnecessary from it is cut off by itself and only the most important remains..”
“..that's why you’ve spoken in a human voice..”
“.. yes, I desperately wanted you to notice me in your endless flow of thoughts.”

The message -47-
Hello, Ahmed.
How are you doing, my Blackhole, in your everlasting darkness? I miss you a bit. What's new? (I hear your answer as a long dolorous sound of your chair below your strong body when you’ve placed one of your legs over the other one). You will do it soon, just don’t think about it.
The thing in me that compels me to think about you is I wish I made an ideal image of a normal man, but I doubt it due to one characteristic of the image that contradicts others. All I know about you is deceptive. You have many variants of a man. The situation complicates the fact that you can speak and think in four quite different languages, it means you have inside yourself four a bit different personalities (so you can solve problems easily in working out a solution in different languages...probably)!
What, it seems, is clear here?
People in their comments admit you are clever and modest. You are a good teacher. I don’t know what you think about those definitions of you. It would be interesting to have known.
In your comments, you complained you are not a full-professor but an associate one, despite all the years you were involved in teaching in the university. I have read what a teacher has to do to earn a professor degree. It needs so much toil, work with students, time for University, articles for research institutes, and so on. What the hell is it all for? I am sure the salary of a professor is not much bigger than that of an associate professor. What is satisfaction like here? I am sure that a simple lecturer is not less happy and pleased and not less respected by students and colleagues.
If it’s important to you, you are a person of achievements. Ambitions encourage you. All your dan in martial arts and advancements in sport show the same. I also read about if it is easy to move from one dan to another higher and higher. The stratification here is analogous with the way to professorship.
You should have wide knowledge in at least your area of study. Such a person has other world. For a simple human who has not that deep background and who is not get used to thinking (to researching), you seem to be a sensei (but some of the dumbest could consider you as an idiot), and they might seem you blind, and stupid as children. I would prefer if you for yourself define such persons as kids. Kids have potential. Of course, it is not easy to look at an adult or old human-animal and think about him as a kid. But I am sure one day you’ll become a Buddha in this case.
Did you do that movement? It will be your speechless response to the cosmos.
Hello once again!
Several Algerians I met in PenPals. One had written me his first message: he wants to marry me, thus he made me a proposal. I thought: “All the Algerians are so stupid!” Yes, all: I did not divide Muslims among countries. All of them were the same, similar for me. Then another Algerian, a Berber, was. He wrote to me from a desert where he was living and sent me just a photo of his glass of hot tea he was drinking at that moment. I remember: that night, the glass was put in a bronze color metal cup holder, the tea was dark brown and seemed very hot. The glass of hot tea stood in the sand.
Both of those guys and all the short messages are part of you in my imagination.
Anyways, all I told you in all my messages is part of you now too, forever.

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"Oh, Olga writes...there won't be a photo today. "
"What a pity!" Peppino exclaimed falsely interestedly, "Why? Did she explain?”
"But you can understand without words, can’t you!?"
"Ah, well..indeed..I don't understand words, we all read only your thoughts in that sense, what your body feels: we .."
"Who are ‘we’?" carefully clarified Ahmed.
"Oh, well, we are all your cells, the totality of tissues: eyes, ears, kidneys, stomach, ass.. "
" ..why are YOU the only one talking to me?" Ahmed was surprised.
"He has more needs," Ahmed's eyes vied with each other, interrupting each other and looking at each other, "and of us, he was always the most active and agile, and enterprising, as he was born..and we were encouraged.. "
"He always causes a lot of problems.." his stomach growled.
"He has a mission. He can't help it. The future of humanity depends on him!" his forehead authoritatively stated, convincingly wincing and raising his eyebrows.
"Silence!" Peppino said briefly and quietly, with a threat, and everyone suddenly fell silent. "..Well, I hid a bit, like a Japanese person does when they want to make a good impression. Actually, I don't know how to read," he continued, changing his tone to a goofy one, “and because you don't feel anything, I can't tell you my opinion."
Ahmed reread the letter, asked, now to himself, "What is the connection between the gorilla and sex?"
"Her husband takes her without asking. And he's a "stranger" now, isn't it clear?" Peppino explained happily.
"Yes, so alien, as if from another planet”. Ahmed agreed.
"Or another kind of animal from another universe.” Peppino yawned deeply in his bass voice. They fell asleep at last.

The message 48
Hello, Ahmed.
Today I dressed in the same dress that you had already seen. I look the same, have the same hairdo, the same face, so I didn't send my photograph today, it is boring to do today, I am not in a good mood.
Why? Since my husband stays at home I am not capable of being relaxed. He is cooking, sometimes doing housework (exclusively when I ask him), and so on. He is kind and kind, too kind.
"He never ask, he always take". (I took the phrase from the serial “Flash”. I watched it in English. The big sentient gorilla recognized that the twin of its tutor was a fake because this fake-twin of his “father” asked, not demanded, him to do something. The gorilla was mad and screamed loudly and angrily at the fake-man :). I should have been tricky or tough to refuse him.
“You don’t love me, do you? You don’t love me..” — he said, kissing and biting my neck.
“ No, I don’t.”
“You are so cold…you were so sexy in your youth.”
“Forget.”
“Is it painful?” carefully biting my back.
“No. There are not many nervous receptors on the back so you can bite harder.”
He forgot about what I asked him about in two minutes. The same happens almost every day when he is at home. He kisses or hugs me almost every moment he can. Why? I know he doesn’t love me and I am not even beautiful for him. He is crazy, that’s what I am sure. And why exactly I am sure his “love” is just selfish pathology is the other deal.

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In the morning, Ahmed had a training session in another town, in Kyoto. Shinji promised to be there, too. Once a month they’ve met at a specialized :) master classes for advanced aikido practitioners. It was expensive to meet more often.
It was very early and quiet when Ahmed walked out to the metro station. The cool morning air froze the tips of his ears. The scarf curled snugly around her neck, like the embrace of the most tender and desirable girl. It was deserted. Only black Japanese crows croaked discordantly and hoarsely, pouncing on the garbage bags and trying to gut them with their huge shiny beaks through protective nets.
In the silence of the awakening city, with the slowly growing roar of this giant opening millions of eyes, Ahmed's vigorous steps beat rhythmically and loudly on the pavement lined with yellowish cobblestones. His body, light and mobile, strong and burdened with the equipment in the backpack, was in intense anticipation of the upcoming pleasure, such a long-awaited training with the famous French coach.
The Frenchman was not young, he lived almost all his life in Japan, teaching the art of Yoshinkan Aikido to the Japanese. It took many years of hard work to organize several schools in different towns and promote their combat techniques in different countries of the world. The coach often travelled to Slovenia, Russia and the Czech Republic for patronage. The Russians especially loved him. His Safebook feed was full of likes from Russian coaches: many of them were trained and received dan in his dojo.
Ahmed admired and amazed the coach's technique. So far he could not catch and use many techniques. There was a lot to learn. Each of his trips, he carefully learnt the results of the classes, tried to record in diaries and on video, so that later he could experiment with his own students. The group in the dojo has always been very large, people from different countries and different nationalities came together.

The message 49
Hello, Ahmed.
You stay on the edge of the Gaussian distribution of all Algerians and people as a whole in many many aspects beginning with you being a Berber (1:3 or 1:4 in Algeria and about 1:234 for the world). Then, your eyes do not properly align with each other when you are looking at an object (it occurs in about 2% of children and even less for adults, 1:50). You are an associate professor (one in three or four hundred people, I think, for Algeria, 1:350). You are Okuiri-Muso-Jikiden-Eishin-Ryu-Iaido master, 6th Dan, from Algeria, let me think 1: 124 776 364 of all Japanese). I am interested in you (1:3.85 billion people). You are alone in the world in your unicality (1:7.7 billion).
You seem so near, I can touch your neck.
Okay, I have to go for meditation and reflection, in short, sleeping. Hope to see you soon.


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At the entrance to the dojo, Ahmed met a female coach he knew. She was one of the teachers and assistants to the head coach. They smiled politely at each other with a slight bow.
“For the start, smile at her more affectionately!” Peppino said briskly.
“Idiot! I'm wearing a mask!”
“Smile anyway. She can see your smile in your eyes. When you smile, your eyes become warm and sexy.”
“She is married.”
“This is training. It will not be superfluous.”
“Leave me alone! I know how to smile and how to be sexy. Don't you know?!”
“What if you have forgotten how in four years!” purred Peppino with his bass voice.
“Not four, but two...”
“Those two years before two years of divorce were so gloomy that they can also be deleted,” cut off the cock.
Ahmed entered the men's locker room. Shinji was there and they greeted each other happily and exchanged a few words while they quickly changed. Peppino watched them closely.
The training hall was full of people. "About forty people probably today." Shinji estimated. "I'm so glad to see you!" continued Ahmed.
After the warm-up, the group started sparring. Ahmed's partner was one of his longtime acquaintances Mark, a University teacher from Hiroshima. He was a man of enormous stature and had a very strong constitution. He was experienced in karate and had the 6th dan in judo.
They fought furiously, tapping bo. Ahmed mentally recited a beautiful phrase in English from a movie that got stuck in his head:
"Fratres! Three weeks from now I will be harvesting my crops." Boom!
"Imagine where you will be, and it will be so." Boom!
"Hold the line. Stay with me." "Boom, boom, boom-boom-boom." bamboo rattled loudly.
"If you find yourself alone, riding in green fields with the sun on your face,..." Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom!
"...do not be troubled; for you are in Elysium,..."
"Huaaaaaaaaar!" shouted Mark, attacking.
"...and you're already dead!" Boom!
"Brothers,..." Boom ?!
"...what..." Boom!
"...we..." Boom!
"Huaaaaaaaaar!" echoed Mark Ahmed.
"...do..." Boom!
"...in life,..." Boom!
"...echoes in..."
Then he accidentally bumped into someone's extremely-soft back. Here Peppino twitched uncertainly. Out of the corner of his eye, Ahmed noticed that it was Shinji's back. Even that timid hint of movement was enough to drive Ahmed into a rage.
"If you do it again, I will kill you!" Ahmed shouted loudly in Arabic at the top of his lungs, and cracked Peppino with all his might with the wooden end of the bo he held. He did so, however, that no one noticed. Inwardly, he was almost dying of pain. His eyes darkened. But, distorting his face with a threatening grimace, Ahmed deftly stepped on Mark with a series of clear movements that were worked out over the years of training, discouraging and disarming him with a warlike scream, and the hating physiognomy.
Sword Dance (From "The Banquet") Lang Lang, Shanghai Symphony Orchestra, Shanghai Percussion Ensemble (Chinese)
https://music.yandex.ru/album/4036/track/49091 
https://music.yandex.ru/album/4036/track/49089 

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"It was involuntary, I was mistaken," the traitor later apologized in a thick rough whisper. Ahmed did not want to hear anything and remained silent. He always avoided empty talk. And here there was nothing to talk about. He hated himself. To distract himself, for the first time in a long time, he logged into his Safebook account. He posted photos of an art object, which was designed by his close friend. His friend made the sculpture for free to decorate a crossroads in a poor area of ;;the town. Ahmed accompanied the photographs with exquisite descriptions in English, and, pleased with himself, leaned back against the cushions of a sofa. An important note had to be added: "Good people have ideas.. Unfortunately, the system is too corrupt.."
Wishing not to return his thoughts to the events of the gone day, he went to Telegram, where he had not been for the last two weeks, and read the last message from Olga.

The message 50
Hello Ahmed,
happy to touch you again.
"He never ask, he always take." The gorilla was sentient but spoke like a foreigner. They wanted to make a point on its alienness to the human mind through that. I think the coming of eureka, and science through it, are like a wild but sapient creature.
I noticed, nature of things resists scientist's persistence. The more you are trying to understand, to solve a problem, the more it becomes weighty and hard. But when you're relaxed and steered your attention to other problems, eureka comes, just catch its tail!
One lecturer said: "Science is as sex: it could give you result from doing that, but you love it not because of that reason." She meant her own relation to science.
In the Russian language, the word "science" has a feminine gender. So the comparison between sex and science, even more, seems right due to the fact that most scientists are men yet. A scientist, he never asks, he takes from nature its mysteries if "she" doesn't mind. He just should love her for her only sake. Thus she'll open him a tiny truth about her.

The last messages somehow shocked him with their openness, even shamelessness — thus how he would define her chaotic revelations.
She compared scientific drive with sex. The drive will not be complete and sincere without the consent of all participants. Knowledge is embodied through the delight of intercourse, which cannot be begged, achieved, or deserved, but only snatched in a fleeting way.
“Scientist ... is she writing about me? Gorilla is a scientist hungry for knowledge, and Olga is a subject for study ..? Or on the contrary, a gorilla is wild and alien to man by both its logic and essence, a superintelligent nature, and the daring scientist very passionately wants...”
"Um .. um .." - tried to break Peppino into Ahmed's thoughts, but Ahmed went to drink tea and read about architecture in Japan…
Ahmed never saw himself as a “scientist”. He considered himself a simple teacher or a researcher. And the fact that someone sees him as a real, actual scientist, occurred to him for the first time. It was necessary to consider this because it did not fit into his head yet.
"I'm really just gonna have to adjust my thinking on this one."
https://music.yandex.ru/album/4036/track/49089
Desire


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Olga has already written 50 messages to Ahmed, and he made her happy with one short answer "You look nice". She was upset. It seemed to her that he wrote a modest compliment out of pity, as one encourages an unlucky or ugly child. She decided to try changing the subject and not think about Ahmed at all. Did not work out:

The message 51
Hello, Ahmed.
Imagine a Big Bang, Ahmed!
Each person is a small big bang. There was nothing and then there appeared a thing from the merger of two cells. (one!) It starts to multiply itself with almost the same speed for different things until the formed creature (human) jumps out from a black (or red?) bag into the world we know. Bigbang of new feelings! (two!)
Now each creature is independent. Each of them needs a magnet that gives them a direction where to go or to grow. Rising their mental abilities each of them takes its own hierarchy among all creatures in the world. Again, an explosion of a new big bang: when he starts to feel (three!) or suspect (four!), or realize (five!) his position here. His material possessions (body and brain in it) will not grow so fast, his brain is formed. He is Ahmed ***ri, for example. Now he is complicating himself every moment with varying speed until he will die (another one big bang of destruction, sixth!). And he is a part of a Big bang (7.7 billion) of all other creatures. Each of them has an energy that he throws in the space he shares with others. All creatures do it even if they cannot talk or see or…with/of others. Why do they do it? It is their nature. They cannot help it. The content of all shared (mass of what was seen, created, made, said, felt, smelled, heard, etc) is a big bouillon available to all or to groups of creatures which complicates them. How they choose from the bouillon what to digest depends on the magnet they have or/and had. There are many healthy creatures who have no doubts about their choice. 


Some of them are deviating which makes them unfocused as much as the feature is hardening.
Okay. One creature was created, grew, ripened, and started a process of complicating itself. His way in that depends on a magnet.
What is the way to? To death? To wisdom? To survive? To live?
One creature is a community of cells. Those are different cells. They are independent of the conscious life of the created body. What is a cell? It is the basic structural, functional, and biological unit of all known organisms. The cells also have contacts in their own world and their own bouillon for sharing. They have structural components. And the last are made from molecules, they — from atoms. Atoms are divided too and have many different kinds of interaction.
As smaller is a part of the cosmos, then deeper and stronger interactions inside it. So, our world is complicated into forms with much weaker links.
Mind. The mind is — as most people understand it — the set of cognitive faculties including consciousness, imagination, perception, thinking, judgment, language, and memory, and cetera, which is housed in the brain (sometimes including the central nervous system). A brain is a community of cells too. Why don’t they live as a huge protoplasm in one huge ocean? Probably such complications are more likely to be successful (for what reason?) in something that is an aim of all or they give existence to All.


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The topic fascinated her and for several days she pondered, trying to imagine at least some image of the universe. She mixed everything: fantasy, fractals, the tendency of things to become more complex, time travel, and Euclidean geometry. It was pure fantasy, not supported by any scientific knowledge. But she liked to invent images, even if they were inaccurate and incorrect. She didn't care what the scientist Ahmed would say or think.
The message 52
Hello, Ahmed.
Imagine a Big Bang, Ahmed!
When I was young I read many books. Most of all I loved fairy tales (orient, Russian, German, French writers, and ethnos) and science fiction.
I remember one short story (I forgot an author) about time traveling. One character (an inventor of time-machine) was explaining his theory to a guy he had chosen for his experiment, the first trip, as a guinea pig-like: "We know we take place in space. Imagine that each man has an uninterrupted trace in space-time. It exists simultaneously in each moment of time in each space point. One man looks in the manner of a long complex worm with the beginning in the point where the man was born, and with the end in the point when he will die." In my head, it looked a bit wider. Imagine that each man, animal, thing in the world has such a trace, or form of the body. Let me take one man only, Ahmed ***ri. He has his own trace, and it appears from his father and mother. Both of them have traces, and so forth. Ahmed and all his beautiful women gave birth to his son, for example, the son also has many contacts and spreads his seed into the human world and so on. I see from one only man can be formed, like, a big chaotic form of the worm, now it is more similar to a tree that is akin to a difficult fractal structure. Honestly, I don't know what fractal means mathematically. I used to design it in Corel, as I can remember, or in Photoshop, so I know how to make it graphically. I feel (because I know nothing, I am not a scientist, not a researcher, I am just interested in imagining theories. I love inventing things in my head to make sure then if I was right or wrong in it...just wasting time, but beautiful), I feel that fractals and Gaussian distribution are close to one another. Gaussian distribution is a special case of fractal distribution. I even would like to be sure that the world is chaotically regulated, and has a fractal structure. For me, a fractal is a structured chaos, a thing that repeats itself according to a rule or several conditions, mutating or changing in the process of self-replication. Look at a man: it seems the body is fractal, the brain too. Look at the processes in the atmosphere, the blood circulatory system of humans, plants, waves in the sea, and so on. I even propose that if a process has not enough clear fractal structure, researchers made a mistake in collecting data or premises. I think it is possible to predict things or find a malfunction knowing its likely fitted fractal structure.
I know fractals could be quite varied.
Also, I had an unlistening look at your next works. I saw, as I can remember, you used fractals for the demonstration of a method or just as an illustration for it. I have not much time to read it and I've translated and tried to have a grasp on only the first work. I know my thoughts are hilarious for somebody but I cannot help here: the thing is very attractive for my imagination, I cannot and don't want to stop.
Imagine, Ahmed, that the cosmos was formed from something that started to multiply and increase its complexity. Scientists know that the smaller part of all is quarks and electrons. There exists a probability they can be divided too, and those can be divided, so further again and again.
The existence of these particles is not proven yet, but I want it to be so. The entire world has a fractal structure, likely.
People create very primitive things using Euclidean geometry or simple fractals (I suspect that these simple forms and rules are special cases of the fractal phenomenons) and nature uses more complex difficult algorithms for its spectacle. I would like to think about it later.

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Olga did not dare to keep Ahmed's photos on her phone: it could be noticed by her daughter or husband. She did not want to explain or invent something or lie. Therefore, it was better not to show your addictions. She kept all the photos of him that she liked on her work computer, where no one could see them or, if someone looked in, they would be people who were indifferent and not curious to her.
She occasionally looked at these photos, trying to guess the state of the person in the photo, his thoughts, feelings at that moment. She wanted to feel him. Not his living flesh, but his living soul. It didn't work. Everything seemed to be deceiving.
She remembered how her friend, Oksana, a programmer working at a university where together with other girls who were also programmers, poked fun at one of their colleagues. They created a series of stickers for Telegram and passed them on to other offices, chuckling to know what mood and state he is in at the moment and what to expect from him. The stickers were primitive, hand-drawn, more precisely, "mouse-drawn" in Paint.
It was a period when there were few customers, too much time, and Olga was tired of reading. When you draw a person or make a collage with his images, you always begin to see and understand him better in general. She made one sticker with Ahmed from his photo, a welcome one, with the inscription: "Hello, Ahmed." It turned out to be funny and not offensive. Just a funny picture with a cute character: a white sterile background, Ahmed sits, looking interestedly in the phone in his hands and reads there "Hello, Ahmed ..."
Olga had begun using Telegram only when she met Oksana. Also, earlier she knew about this app from her daughter. They spoke English with Oksana in Telegram several times a week, teaching each other.
Now Olga wanted to know all the features of the application and to try using them, for example, placing stickers. She knew that, as Oksana and her daughter explained to her, no stranger could see these stickers until you send them to someone, and that someone will share them with someone else. It's very private.
Therefore, Olga supplied her next message with a greeting in the form of a sticker, instead of the traditional printed phrase "Hello Ahmed, .. . "

The message 53
Hello, Ahmed.
Yesterday I was waiting for a customer, but he, as it was predictable, didn't come.
About four years ago I worked as manager-designer for a small firm. They manufactured furniture. Now I have similar work. One day I was waiting for a rich customer, a big order to earn some money (my wage depends on quantity and costs of orders). In my office came one man, in dirty clothes, drunk, fat, with a red round face, about 50 years old. But his eyes and his appearance were kind and trustable. I  am always very polite with people even if they look like that man. I invited him to have a sit and began to ask his needs. He wanted a sliding door wardrobe for his relatives. Then he started to tell me about his life on the edge of the north, that they, north's dwellers, live in the fresh air, among a wild forest, take mushrooms, eat raw fish and pine nuts. And they use bear fat for treating instead of medicine. He told me that he helps an orphan house and a children's antituberculosis dispenser by sending to its supervisor the bear fat. It has a good anti-tuberculosis impact. Don't know why I asked him how much it costs. Expensive, but not an arm and a leg. "If you want, I can give it to you too, I have a bit of it at home left." -- he promised. Don't know why I agreed. Probably because I had a good income that time, didn't count money, or maybe he was a fine suggestor-man. I recalled now that later my important customer was in my office when the red-faced man had returned with the fat and I gave him money in order he left us as soon as possible. I bought it. I brought it home, all my family tried to figure out if it was a bear or chicken fat. We were not sure. It ended with the fat spent in our fridge for about half a year until it got mold.

Yesterday morning a half-man showed up in the doorway. An old man with red physiognomy. I invited him to enter:
"How can I help you?" He came and sat at my table.
"Wardrobe, but not for me -- for my relatives, they are going to come tomorrow in Tyumen. I would like to know the cost of services."
"Ah..do you know the size of planned furniture?"
"Oh no, I don't ..tomorrow..they will come tomorrow.."--he started saying unconfidently because I gazed at him with irony. "They live in the north, you know..row fish, you never tasted anything better, withe mushrooms, bear fat, you know.."
"Oh, okay. So, I will be waiting for you and your friends tomorrow .. at which time could they come here?"
"At three, after they had a rest, surely!"
"Okay, hope to see you soon, Viktor!"
Sad story. It's sad because I realized: it went five or four years ago, but nothing has changed in my life. Now I work in another place that is located far from where my red-faced visitor came for the first time. I am interested now, was I his first victim that time or I gave him a good idea for cheating. He is just hilarious. The worst thing is I feel I made a cycle, not the first in my life, a spiral cycle. I wish I could break the way to start something new. I dropped a couple of tears...

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Ahmed was surprised at his photo on the sticker. He was even more surprised when he clicked on the picture and it went with a reply message to Olga.
She gave him the reply a bit later.

The message 54
9 марта 2020
Ahmed, it seems my black hole is suffering a stomach illness: it has made a type of reflux or belch, twice, as a reply to my impact. Interesting:) Just today I was listening to one guy's book. He watched his clever robotic vacuum cleaner and it occurred to him that it had such behavior as if it had a brain, so the guy even dissected (he was a surgeon) its "head" to see the brain and had found nothing but dust and cables. I would like to see what you have in your deep stomach-like head, not only dirt or dust, or emptiness and darkness, I would like to be sure. Or do you have a stone inside for throwing at me next time?

Ahmed later came back and asked how she made this sticker. He did not try to start a conversation, but only found a simple reason for some answer. He did not know how to talk to crazy people and was a little afraid of Olga's inadequate acts.

She tried to calm him down: "I have only Paint on my office PC, so I made the sticker using a mouse and this app. It was long and meditative:) But you are photogenic, Ahmed, so it was really pleasant.
Also, I made several others but I will probably place them later. Don't worry: nobody can see it if you or I will not share it with other members of Telegram."

"Hah! It turned out that she had already sculpted a lot of the stickers!" Ahmed began to worry. He read Olga's answer, frowned, and tried to forget.

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The chunk =51= The message -350-

And a few days later, a hundred photos from Olga came to Ahmed, drumming notifications. That woman has absolutely nothing to do! He imagined a city madwoman, with a passion for distorted architectural delights, photographing a hundred different trash cans in different parts of the town: in crowded places and in forgotten even by God ones, near presentable shops and fashionable hotels and at the entrance to economy supermarkets, set next to libraries and hospitals. He poked at several photos with a surprise: they disappeared after viewing in a few seconds. It is not interesting to stare at the urns. So he logged into his account several times, poking at random at the images: maybe there is something else? Bins were everywhere. He marveled at so many: there were no urns in Japan at all. They put large containers under the garbage somewhere at the exit, when there was a big crowdy event. But they did not keep the trash bins as such: aggressive rats and crows scattered garbage from the bins. Bins and their maintenance are economically unprofitable, so they have been abandoned for many many years, having trained the population to keep the cities clean. And Ahmed agreed with this in Japan. From childhood, the Japanese are taught to be clean, responsible for the work of others and how their house, yard, street, country looks like. He saw how a Japanese woman, the owner of a small store, a very ancient old woman about 89, with difficulty crawled out onto the porch every morning and carefully, with scissors, picked out weeds from the paving stones at the entrance to the store so that it looked neat. In Japan, every citizen is obliged to sort his garbage into several types, collect it in different bags and take it to specially organized places. Then bricks are made of this garbage. This is a significant industry in Japan. These bricks are used to build islands near Japan, increasing its land area.
In France, where Ahmed has been to his brother, there were rubbish bins, but their number was in direct proportion to the fashionableness of the area. The more economically prosperous the area is, the fewer waste bins, less rubbish, more beautiful buildings and offices of well-known companies there are. The dirtiest areas are full of waste bins with plastic bags in them and a variety of grass trash scattered on the cobblestones where people walked. There is more graffiti on the walls and more often one can meet completely dead, rusted cars on the roads.
In Algeria, the attitude towards garbage is French. The urns look different: not a unified plastic bag in a translucent schematic made by a standard urn, as in France, but usually plastic containers strung on a metal support pole or a cast iron vase.
It is unthinkable to imagine an Algerian woman wandering somewhere in Bedjaya town in search of interesting details of the townscape. In Japan, everything is possible and there are many of their own mad-men. People love photographing, but ... beautiful, popular views. "This lady is out of her mind, exactly." thought Ahmed in bewildered amazement.

The message 55
Hello, Ahmed.
Today I am in dull despair. It follows inevitably upon the work I have like the night follows upon the day.
Which creature would I reincarnate in in that case I will make the decision? But I must write the letter as I have to live. I do my program for today.
8th march we had a celebration in Russia, Women's day. Then was one of my days off. My Japanese sensei Kaoru recommended I meet new people in order "to make my day last longer". (Do I need it?)
I don't like to meet new people: where could I find someone interesting? As for the rest, they are numskulls, ninnies, superficial, dogmatic, and ignorant as me.
So I made a long walk with only one goal: I focused on taking photos of... garbage cans. I am too tired today so I will not explain why I did that.

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The chunk =52= The message -352-

March 8 is a holiday in Russia. The Japanese Kaoru was very nice and congratulated Olga on the holiday, like her work colleagues, whom she rarely saw.
Kaoru. It was interesting to chat with him. But he was superficial, like many Japanese, in the sense of the European cultural layer. They say that fools also understand Shakespeare, but they understand in their own way. Other cultures also understand other cultures but in their own way. Which one is dumber? Kaoru was not offended when she, jokingly for the experiment and for data acquisition, called him stupid. But he was offended when she noticed that the two of them were not very good at English. Apparently, he thought he was much better advanced. His messages became more literate: probably, he began to check them on Google. Unusual Japanese: Japanese with a good sense of humor, sometimes he joked .. although, how many Japanese did she meet? A couple of men on social media?
 
Kaoru said he didn't like Japanese society. Japan lagged behind both Russia and China, and Japan's future is going to be unremarkable, in his opinion. He did not explain by what parameters he assessed countries. Probably by creativity. He also noted the economic increase in Japan, close to stagnation. Olga adored Kaoru and his stories about his adventures in Russia when he was 22-25 and she was about 16. He came to Russia in the 1990s, during the years of Perestroika, went out for a walk and got lost in Moscow. For two days he was looking for his Russian friend’s location because he did not know his address and even at whose house he stayed. Kaoru spent one night wandering in the streets of Moscow. Before that, he fled from Japan to Australia at the age of about 18. He also told a lot of interesting things about himself. He sent her articles from the Internet about what he had seen and experienced, sent a video of how he and his daughter and son dyed fabric in indigo in the traditional way on one of their trips to attractions, sent photos of his daughter and son. But in his own photos, which he sent Olga, he was at the age 30 years ago, where he was quite young on a trip to Thailand. Olga did not really understand who he was, but he represented himself as a Google public relations council in Japan, constantly communicating with various foreigners by work, and often traveling abroad and to different towns in Japan.
 
He was born in a small town that looked very beautiful in the photo Kaoru sent her, but he lived permanently somewhere in the center of Tokyo. When she received the photos of the cafe where he usually worked and next to which he lived, she found this place on Google maps. Kaoru was not divorced, but he did not live with his wife and children. He was single. For many years he was looking for a soulmate. Olga did not have such a soul, although Kaoru felt sympathy for her, and in every possible way showed this in pleasant compliments, addressed  her not by appearance because she did not send him her face photographs at the beginning, but her feelings and thoughts. And later, when she took some pics of her to him, he remained almost indifferent to her photographs. It seemed so. Olga remembered how one American sent her photos of himself, taken very close and very clear. And Makoto, another Japanese man, also sent her such photos and videos, from which she held the phone away from her face, so as not to commit this to memory: she didn’t want to have a dream about it. Those Japanese and American were not so terrible, neither outwardly nor inwardly: their photos seemed terrible for her. Perhaps Kaoru's attitude towards photographs of her appearance was similar.
Ahmed could not help but know about the celebration too…but he kept silent..
 
The message 56
Hello, oh my Arabic-samurai-black-hole-Ahmed-san!
Today everything is foggier than usual. When he is at home I cannot do and think what I want, and not because he forbade me, but I should be involved in his life while he is beside me. He wants to speak, to tell me about something. He is still painting his landscape, so he always wants me to give him advice. Today evening he left me for a week.
I miss him: he is kind and optimistic and always makes us more alive. I am worried a bit if he reached the village safely: it is icy-condition on the roads. But I feel satisfied that I can live only my life for a week at least.
However, I have nothing to say. Today my head is particularly empty because now my daughter doesn't allow me to do what I want: she is criticizing me, kicking me out to sleep. It's about 1 am now.
I feel an abhorrence of snobs. Do you know such people?
**SNOB** — is a pejorative term for a person who believes there is a correlation between social status and human worth. Snob also refers to a person who feels superiority over those from lower social classes, education levels, or other social areas.  A form of snobbery can be adopted by someone not a part of that group; a pseudo-intellectual, a celebrity worshipper, and a poor person idolizing money and the rich are types of snobs who do not base their snobbery on their personal attributes. Which form of snobs does black-hole-san belong to, I would like to know.
Have a nice day.
 
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The chunk =53= The message -353-

On March 9th, Olga greeted him with a new sticker and when Ahmed clicked on this sticker, he saw four new funny pictures with his miniature image on a white background in the selection. He was not amused, he was not happy with the attention, but was afraid and offended. He thought she was laughing at him. This is the most unbearable thing for a real Arab when a woman makes a mockery of him. He was taken aback. Olga addressed him affectionately but made funny stickers with his figure and all her arguments about the Arabs were incomprehensible to him. Ahmed was angry that his stickers were in the public domain: what if they became popular and funny pictures with his face were flashed everywhere.
Ahmed, with a microphone in his hand, is a lecturer for a group of highly developed monkeys, the inscription "<?> It is my life </>";
Ahmed is alone and with a microphone in his hand pensively looks ahead and up, the inscription of the voice from the invisible side "Let slow down, Ahmed!";
Ahmed, with a microphone, scratches his forehead in puzzlement (a typical gesture for him), behind him sit in rows of monkeys, the inscription "Are you sure, Ahmed?";
the head of Ahmed in profile, he with obvious interest, leaning forward, looks at the head of a conventional person with diagrams of brain zones drawn on it, the inscription as if Ahmed is addressing the head "You look nice.";
Ahmed sits in an armchair of the auditorium next to Nagelina Lojie, she has a very deep neckline of the dress, she looks somewhere into the distance, squinting, and Ahmed with his whole body shrank away from her, squeezing into his chair and looking at a photographer, the inscription "Imagine a Big Bang, Ahmed! ";
There is no Ahmed, there are monkeys, the inscription "Where is Ahmed?";
There is no Ahmed, there is a black cast-iron street-urn with a casting pattern, very smart garbage-urn can with a bouquet of fresh luxurious pale pink tulips inside it (these are usually given to women in Russia on March 8), Olga's head with opened eyes is lying in the snow next to it, the inscription "Thank you, Ahmed! ";
Ahmed is absent, a huge monkey is sitting in front of a laptop and typing with one finger "Hello, Ahmed."
...The most unexpected things are now becoming fashionable.
 
The message 57
Hello, Ahmed.
Ah, Ahmed! I am so lucky I found you! You are my angel or a goblin, or a div, it depends on what I want you to be. I am enjoying even the sound of your last name: "*****-ri" (we can work out what "-ri" could mean, interestingly, what is your Japanese name). Just keep silent, be nice, my little Black.
Today I was busy, again I didn't make time for the gym, for lunch. I lost a one-kilogram last week. It is not easy to gain my weight back.
What a beautiful, clever sport you are fond of! It is Art. In Russia, Aikido is popular. Almost all caucasian men try it.
All the differences between Arabic nations in different countries don't rescind that fact they have similar behavior in social networks. They never swear at each other, don't make point jokes, they may not be lying, but rarely are able to say the truth if they have an unpleasant opinion about an interlocutor. They'd rather be silent than saying something potentially offensive.
I was wondering when I knew Arabian men send each other compliments: "you are handsome, clever, honest, strong, good guy, so on". And they are doing this encouragement ostentatiously and demonstratively. Even when they don't  think so.
Also, I noticed some similarities between Arabians and Japanese. Yes, they are two big worlds, even planets, so different they seem. General that unites them is a patriarchal vision of the world and demonstrative (in a different manner) behavior and consumption, aesthetic of force, an idea about the greatness of nation and country, demonstrative nationalism, and patriotism. I would like to know where I am wrong, but it is impossible.
I would like to know where I am wrong, but it is impossible. I would have to undertake a study of the situation using statistical analyses, but I do not have any sources and skills for this. An interesting question is finding out the similarities and differences in the sexual models of both peoples (mentally healthy average men and women).
 
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The chunk =54= The message -354-

The next day, Olga, according to her plan of every-two-week visiting, went into Ahmed’s Safebook account. She commented on his long-standing, published two weeks ago, a post about a sculpture made by his university friend. This guy was an introvert and thoughtful person. Ahmed preferred quiet and modest people in his environment. She was joking about an art object.. The "trash" theme still was stuck in her small head, which Ahmed could not understand at all: he was deprived of such an intricate imagination. Another mocking sticker made him laugh and exasperated: the head of Ahmed with the corpo of the body from Ahmed's uncle dressed in a national white shirt and national headdress, the left hand is pressed to the heart, in the right hand he squeezed the stick of the flag of Algeria, the inscription is short: "Arabic".

The message 58
Hello, Ahmed.
Several days ago despite my promise I visited your Safebook account, sorry. I saw that art object created by your friend. Yes, air-light, beautiful, patriotic, and elegant. In my opinion, he would better make some garbage urns for the city, or organize a couple of actions in order to change something in citizens' vision of their culture, beginning with many small things around them. We often ignore those simple habits that make our life a bit better. For example, to throw all the litter in an urn, not on a sidewalk or along roads as I saw in photos of Algeria. Garbage on streets. With that sign which he placed in the cross of roads, what did he change? What was his concept, I would like to know? He has the will and money to start to paint those buildings in white as a symbol of extending the impact of the sculpture? Will the performance go further? Or the sculptor is also too modest for crazy ideas? In short, more likely that the idea (to think about garbage, for example) is too modest for his great human soul.

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Ahmed tried to be polite, sending a carefully thought-out phrase in English,
"Why do you make stickers using my image?
Could you please delete them?
I don't like the idea."
She responded with a half-joke,
"I like it. Your image has so many meanings. Your begging makes me more limited."
Ahmed repeated his request,
"No, I don't like that you use my photos to make stickers.
Please, stop doing it!"
"I am glad you are able to say your hard NO. I have deleted it. But why not? "
and carelessly she sent the next numbered message:

The message 59
Hello, Ahmed.
What I like in Arabic: translating almost all messages from Arabic to Russian gives interesting statements.
I have found, speaking with my Chinese friends: if they impress their thoughts too directly in Russian or sometimes translate their texts in Google translator, the statements become often hilarious or difficult and puzzling.

Translating Arabic messages in Russian I see only poets, storytellers, and wise women and men:). Translated too directly in Russian from Arabic the texts get mysterious, fairy, poetic. Arabic people often use metaphors, proverbs, and quotes. I couldn't grasp: what is that what makes their words so, their religious education, or the impact of the specific language, or are they really deeper in their vision of the world? Each of them seems to be a bit of a philosopher. Also, they like to give the best image of themselves as a role model. I do the same sometimes despite knowing I am not a fit candidate for that.

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Ahmed remembered all the little people who like to humor and gossip about everyone. This was a property of ordinary people that he did not like in his nation. Olga very quickly agreed to remove stickers, but she supplied her messages with witticisms to hurt him painfully. At least he got her to stop making stickers. To reinforce the effect, Ahmed wrote:
"Good ... we can still remain friends.
I like you.
Please, delete these images.
Thank you."
As an echo he received a new message.

The message 60
My right step should be ignoring all requests or beggings from you since you are ignoring mine. Does it hurt you? Did I make you feel pain? Do you feel sick looking at my imagination of you? What’s the matter? Nobody can see these but you and me. Is it disgusting to you thinking I am analyzing each of your body features? Did I make your image rude or stupid? Funny. I apologize in case  I damaged you in some way. I did not want to insult you.
"Can I make a black hole of yours for the stickers using the outlines of your figure?"
"NO."
“Oh, Allah! Okay. I hear and obey!”, she sent the message.

On reflection, she added with restraint,
"Okay, don't worry. I am sorry. I'll stop doing it. In one hour they will be removed from Telegram, Ahmed."
"It's strange," she thought, "he looks like an educated person, but can't find absolutely accessible information about such a simple application as Telegram." She thought of her husband, who could not even take a screenshot on his phone and send it through some messenger. The husband was only five years older than Ahmed.

Ahmed wanted to appear friendly, although he had no sympathy for this nervous woman:
"Come on.
We are still friends.
I just didn't want to see my photo stickers everywhere.
Haha."

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This "Comon" seemed to Olga to be such a rude, feigned, and vile trick, "I like you", "we're still..friends..haha" ... seriously? He didn't even write two words from the very beginning, except for the fake "You look nice". This combination of phrases seemed to Olga unpleasant, even offensive. She was furious at such a desperate and stupid pretense for personal gain. He considers her a complete idiot, this Ahmed! Well, this is not surprising, after all her hooliganism, but such incredible cowardice of his was very unusual for her Russian nature. She did not restrain herself writing what she thought about Ahmed, trying, however, to avoid too harsh and abusive phrases.

The message 61
Oh, friends!? I am startled by the strange notion about friendship you have, Ahmed! You are crazy, I suppose.
You have never been my friend, dear Ahmed. You should earn that privilege. You did nothing to attract my friendly heart. You are nothing for me, a black hole, an emptiness, a zero, the place where I send some garbage and beauty I have in my soul. You are just a connecting thread between me and a god, figuratively saying. You are the zero that helps me to form my thoughts. I need it (I've never done it before) because of...
It is not easy due to the fact  I use English.
What is the tragedy if someone meets such a sticker? What will be changed? He will start to disrespect you? Will your wives and relatives receive it and start laughing at you? Explain to me please. Can I use my own images for making the stickers, don't you mind?
He he
Okay, my "friend" Ahmed, see you soon.