En 58-70 Hello Ahmed,...

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
The chunk =58= The message -358-

Olga was still in a depressed mood. And she tried to realize what she had written to him. It often happened to her: she would say or write something on the fritz, and then she herself did not understand why she was angry, and why she was offended. In general, Ahmed behaved quite decently and one could only be surprised at his patience for her. Anyone, anybody, would have written her something rude and angry long ago. She was no longer angry at the words of Ahmed and was grateful for his  restraint and silence.

The message 62
Hello, Ahmed.
How are you? Have you ever cried, Ahmed? What makes people cry? Why could you cry? What do you think makes your woman cry sometimes? I am not crying at home now. Sometimes I allow myself to cry when I am going along a street deep night after my work commuting home. ...Oh, my thoughts are so foggy or chaotic now… I cannot focus on something particular... Somebody can see me crying in the dark but it doesn’t matter: maybe she has eye illness: just tears flow. I cannot even remember now the reason I was crying. I forbid myself from doing it at home even when I am taking a shower. Eyes will be swollen and red and I am afraid I will not be able to stop in time to avoid it becoming noticeable. 
Why do I feel disappointed by tears? I don’t know. I feel I am a small weak creature, maybe and I cannot help myself in this life. I cannot change anything that causes the tears. Also, I cry when I am listening to a piece of good music or watching something fine, so I avoid visiting concerts or theaters: I don’t want to be crying openly among a crowd of people. Now, when I am writing these strokes, I've dropped tears, exactly two...three...four. Ok. Norm.
What is a god for me? Why are you a provider/connector (is this a fit word)? I have written it in the minute I was very angry at you and at myself. I dislike that you are so cowardly and depending on people's opinions.
But I know how students could be evil and cruel. I share your sense of danger when something you cannot control and is potentially compromising you is rising on the internet. I admit your right to be, to feel yourself safe. Thus I am once again declaring to you: I have never wanted to do you any damage and I will never do something that can potentially make your life worse.
I am not an adept of any particular religion. I don’t know who is atheist exactly. My father was a communist, party employee of high rank, so maybe that's why I have a book in my library named “Atheist's Handbook”. This book tells shortly about many religions of the world, has information about almost all countries, about many benches of beliefs including some sects. The date of the publication of the book was 1978. I didn’t read it in my childhood. But I have read it partly recently.
 
$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
The chunk =59= The message -359-

Ahmed loved to love. So it seemed from the outside. So it often seemed to him. However, he, wise to bad experience, in fact took a comfortable position of denial both friendship and love. They don't exist. Extremely cynically, he considered relationships, he was forming an environment, a circle of acquaintances, useful people, to whom he himself also could be useful for a useful exchange of various things, both material and non-material. He constantly expanded the circle of friends in the smartphone's contacts-book and in social networks, without showing their amount, taking almost everyone into his cosmic sized black womb, like a black hole.
It was common for Ahmed to pass through people, not only to pass over them, and the feelings of those people whom he had "stepped over" and rejected as "useless" did not concern him at all. He did not offend them, didn't insult them, did not kill them in any way by a single word or gesture, or by any other act, openly or directly. He ignored those whom he considered defected. It was his way to avoid conflicts.
Thus the Nazis politely sent Jewish families to be "disinfected" in a gas chamber, where they were quietly and imperceptibly burned, and for all other Jews in the reservation were explained that those families did not disappear, but went to another reservation for permanent residence. It is unlikely that those people who give and carry out such orders, felt cruelty. They were simply coldly guided by considerations of ”utility."
Ahmed's heart ignored all of Olga's messages, not because he was time constrained, not because he didn't like her, and not because he was outraged by her hooligan emails: he just didn't care. She couldn't be useful, in any way. He could step through her, easily.

The message 63
Hello, Ahmed.
I am sure you don’t know the history of Russia. The 1970s years mean years of цукуstrict communistic censorship in all printed literature. Each book was controlled by many ideology committees. Something like that there is in many Arabic countries maybe now, in Algeria, probably, also; it would be interesting to know.
Such a book of course has many authors, the big collective of journalists, lecturers of scientific materialism, … oh, no, I have found information about this book in Wikipedia. No, almost all the authors were philosophers and two historians. A part of them were associate Professors (almost all of them full professors) and candidates of science in philosophy. 28 people in total. Some of them were religious scholars, specialists in epistemology and axiology, there were two journalists, one ethnographer, and one excommunicated theologian. The men were born in 1901 — 1930 years. There's not even one woman.
The outsell of my book was 200000 copies. And this book had been published for 19 years in Russia from 1968 till 1987. Can you imagine this book set on a shelf of each Russian family which got used to reading books? Ten percent of the people had even probably read it.
The book was published under the editorship of an academician (who was born in 1891) who was a scholar of medievalism, one of the authors of Russian university and school learning books in medieval history. He died before I was born. There is no other modern information about him, but 212 science works were placed on site of the Russian Academy of Science. Oh, I have found some information about him, who was described as a bright and very decent person.
In short, all of them did a huge job those years preparing the book. The book is really good. There’s not any anti-religious propaganda into it, just facts, short and succinct.

The message 64
Hello, Ahmed.
I don’t know what role an editor of a soviet book had… I think it was a person who took all the responsibility for the materials in the book. That academic Ksakzin was in charge of the form, direction and principles of the book. So I am sure he personally had read each article..till he died in 1973. But all these years this book was published with his name put as an editor’s name. As one of the authors of the book, the first in the list was written by Professor Asinimov. It turned out right recently, my sense of reality and my vision of morality matches his ideas.

The message 65
Hello, Ahmed.
Let me see...
Russian Wikipedia (I am not a scientist, I can use all sources whatever I want) says Asinimov developed a concept where he proved that morality is not just a form of reflection of reality in human consciousness, but a fundamental property of all his life, a kind of immune system, that prevents him from entropy disintegration (What is it? When well-organized, in a human sense, things become chaotic?) of the spirituality of a person or of society as a whole.
(Do they try to say morality, as a natural feature of any Materia, has a potentially protective impact against natural processes of self-destruction inherent to the Materia?)
He considered that neither political conscience, nor legal conscience, nor science, nor religious and aesthetic conscience, nor any other components of spirituality, except morality, can be in charge of that.
This prerogative of moral conscience is a result of all cosmic and social evolution. (This last stroke I like most of all :) the rest.)
The entropy of my mind is high, so I need my statements to have lower entropy: society and individual spirituality (morality) is an objective natural feature/property of them.
This property is a property of Materia that was formed by the evolution of the universe.
A constant complication of morality allows the existence of more difficult social systems and individuals. This substation is not stable.
Oh my god, I understand nothing.
When I was a kid we had a garden outside the city. I used to love to have been there sometimes. I remember I had read a fairy tale or an article about one man. He avoided stepping on insects and plants, and so on, in order to not damage them. I liked the idea but it was impossible. In our garden, there were so many ants and worms: whenever you step foot they are here.
Also, I remember I was able to whistle like a bird. I was imagining that some birds, I tried talking with, had answered me the first and second time whistling…but then they probably thought, like, “what a stupid bird!” was me and then they remained silent. The same as with you, Ahmed.
The garden was the best time then.
I loved watching plants, insects, frogs, spiders, birds, everything we had in it. My aunt was startled when I told her that my cat probably was able to understand what we were doing and speaking but had no need to show us that. Likely the wall has a consciousness and the sound it gives when I hit it, is actually its language. How can we know?
We have definitions of what is living matter and what is a dead matter. But do we have a strict border between them? Why? We have no grasp of what consciousness is, who or what can have it. We know nothing about 95% of Materia in the world. We know that two atoms can exchange quarks when these atoms are more than a hundred kilometers apart. Why was I deeply thinking about a possible outbreak in the near future, and even made a notice in my notebook,  three months before we had known about coronavirus in China? They say it started in China exactly at that time I started thinking. Only several months later they got evidence in China the new virus was a danger. It sounds crazy, I know.
Today is 16 March.
Dollar increased in the last several days. I saved some money for my daughter's entering University and I feel I am about to lose most of it. I feel I should buy dollars today, but I cannot. Tomorrow, I am sure, the rate of dollars will rise noticeable, again. But I don't allow myself to act in this way: I am not experienced here, so I cannot trust my intuition.
But how about the coincidence with the outbreak? It is not the first time I guessed the future. :) Or, I am creating the future, haha (3 times repeat, please). May it be I dreamed up you, Ahmed, too? Are you sure you've been earlier until I met you? I am your God and Maker, Ahmed.
Because otherwise, it is impossible to be so perfect for me man.
Okay, your God is going to take a shower. Good night, Ahmed.

The message 66
Hello, Ahmed.
I always looked at the quantity of copies of each book I had read. My library was collected by my father. Buying books was very popular those years when he was young (he died at 41 in 1985). The best gift was books and cut-glass ware. I am not sure he had time to read them all. I remember he used to read me some books aloud, I loved it very much. But later my parents bought a turntable for vinyl phonorecords. And the problem of wasting time with me was resolved for them. We didn't talk much. They never had time for us. My childhood was reading books and magazines, listening to forty-five, watching TV and fighting with my older brother, and also meeting with friends.
The average quantity of an average book was 200-250 000 copies and had many republishing. Different people who had habits of reading books had almost similar libraries. And it was no matter where they lived: in Moscow or in Vladivostok, they mostly had and were given all the same books. They had the same learning books for their children and students. Most of them had nothing else in their lives such as working, reading books, watching tv, or listening to vinyl. Some of the soviet people visited theaters and concerts. I remember we often went there with my aunt after dad's death.
When I started learning English, I had many Russian interlocutors of different ages. People about my age and older really had a similar experience with books. Each of us is a product of that preparing-and-launching-books-machine. The machine, which included not many soviet scientists and journalists and people in charge who had that exclusive rights to make the decisions about what and how will be published.
It is disgusting to feel I was limited by someone's will. I was formed in the image and likeness of what?...an average soviet ideal of human?...a person-who-don't-cause-problems? What was the aim they steered to? Does an equi distribution of knowledge among the mass of citizens lead to the lowering of conflicts in society?
Impression of impression. Stamp of reprints. That is what we almost all are.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
The chunk =60= The message -376-

These were the twenties of March. Ahmed strolled along the cherry blossom alley, breathing in the scent of the pollen dissolved in the air. Befuddled by beauty, he strode thoughtlessly along the alleys of a small Park near residential areas.
Today he was told at work that he must leave Japan within a week. The tickets were given to him, he almost packed his things. He went out to say goodbye. It is not known how long the quarantine will last and how the Covid-19 epidemic will turn out in general for Japan, Algeria and the economy, and the interaction of world countries in general.
Ahmed heard music coming from one of the windows. One of Chopin's sad nocturnes was being practiced on the piano by someone unseen, over and over again playing the same passages, then the whole melody as a whole, again repeating fragments.
Ahmed sat down on one of the benches nearby and relaxed. The melody - how wonderful it is - filled the surrounding space with enchanting sounds and vibrations of a living instrument. He watched people passing and walking, swaying branches of cherries weighed down with lush flower buds, birds flitting from a branch onto the grass, and thought of nothing. So he sat for a long time, staring at the swaying water surface of the pond in the distance when he suddenly noticed a baby standing next to his bench and with interest, intently, seriously looking at Ahmed with his round dark brown eyes. The kid was cute. Ahmed smiled at him friendly. But the boy did not answer the smile, without moving and continuing to peer inquisitively into the depths of Akhmed's eyes. Ahmed, sitting, leaned forward to the baby to start a conversation, but the baby immediately turned around and ran away, leaving Ahmed to sit in an awkward position. Ahmed hesitated for a while, took out his smartphone, and read the last two messages from Olga, which he just marked as read two days ago without logging into his account.

The message  67
Hello, Ahmed.
My mood today.
https://youtu.be/P21qlB0K-Bs
(J. S. Bach) The St Matthew Passion
I didn't have time for writing to you.
I miss you a bit.

The message  68
Hello, Ahmed.
I have been too lazy lately to write. You know, I immediately delete all my and your messages from the history of my account just having been written. So I write the continuation in my memory.
The last time I stopped where I was talking was that I have the same background, the same garbage in my head as the majority of people in my country at the age of about plus or minus 20 years. We call it culture.
You and each other person in your country have other kinds of garbage for being placed in their heads. My Japanese has a similar background for things in his head as each of his countrymen. We call it culture, but it is just garbage that can complicate the life of each human.
I got the reason I felt bad being figured out we all have almost the same baggage in our heads, is from my youth. After the death of my mother (she had been dying for eight months after surgery on her brain) I felt her in my blood, in my body, in my voice, in how my hands look despite I look like my father, in how I move, wich proverbs I use, how I behave. It is a fear of such terrible death. What could be worse than when you are not capable of moving, is lying naked and crooked, asking a dose of poison, helpless, but realizing everything.
When I was about 5 or 6 years old, we hosted our relatives in our garden. There was a well there, an opened hole in the ground of iron rings full of water. My older cousin offered to jump over it. I fell into it. I was neither afraid nor scared. I remember a frog there,  it died, I think now, because, as I remember, it put its legs relaxed and spread them in different directions. I remember beautiful air bubbles in the water and on the light-brown clay surface of rings. What a beautiful death it could be then!
So it is just normal we all are partly consuming our culture, the garbage mankind produces because it lives. Culture is the same byproduct of society as warmth, smells, sweat, urine and feces are byproducts of a human body, isn't it?

Ahmed wrote the answer: "Hello!" So he was joking. He was beginning to get annoyed by her ranting and he knew that this one magic word could radically change the course of her thoughts.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
The chunk =61= The message -377-

“Hello” - Olga read the message from Ahmed. She just snorted. Why does he even say hello? It would be better to be silent, as has become customary. If he really had something to say, he could ask a question or develop his thoughts or speak.
First, she sent one of the images of stickers “Hello, Ahmed!”, Not from the Telegram database, which she deleted, but from the folder of her work computer. And then she snorted five more times and typed the answer: “Oh..Ahmed! One another bubble! Good to hear from you! Good news! ” And she sent her usual message, which was already written in advance. She did not expect the continuation of the conversation with Ahmed. Why is he breaking the rules of the game that he has already accepted?

The message  69
Hello, Ahmed.
My husband returned the day before yesterday night. He was disappointed I didn’t call him those ten days he was absent. I called once indeed. He always calls me with his: “You are not missing me…don’t you love me?!” What I could say here: “No, I don’t”— is always my answer. But he never believes me. He said to me it was a celebration yesterday for Muslims...so…
Arabic.
Do you know that Berbers are our far relatives and we, Russians, have common ancestors with Berbers? At least there are people in Russia who develop the idea. They talk about Amazahs in Morocco. But according to !Wiki! there are Berbers in Algeria, Kabilahs in the north, and Chaouis in the east. They have green, blue, gray eyes and Russian facial features, prints in clothes, and tattoos like those:
Also, they have almost similar to the ancient Russian alphabet, like that:
I have found a science-like article
http://rustimes.com/blog/post_1261963573.html but haven't read it yet.
Congratulations!

She was sure his nation was Berber. And his surname was not French, as she thought at first, but Berber: in Morocco, Algeria, Libya, and Egypt there are many people with this last name.
And she added another funny but not offensive sticker with the text “Arabic”. There was Ahmed dressed in a suit, as usual, with a microphone in his tender hand, because all the photos for the stickers were taken from his photoshoot of performance at some design event in the university. The floor in that hall was tiled in the form of an Arab eight-pointed star rub al-Hizb, almost in the center of which stood Ahmed.
She deleted the messages on her side and put the next scheduled message number. She began to forget the sequence of messages and now left herself a reminder — the number of the next message — by which she could also find out if her messages had been read, which she wasn’t sure earlier..

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
The chunk =62= The message -378-

March 22, 2020.

“Yes, I’m berber.. Exactly, chaoui
Living in the east of Algeria
Do you love your husband?” Ahmed again violated their tacit agreement of silence.

“I’ve watched the movie “Algerien Chaoui: La Maison Jaune”. It was in Arabic with French subtitles. I don’t know both languages, but the movie was understandable enough. Why did you decide to answer me? Do you always ask such difficult questions?”

“Yes
I divorced twice
That’s why”
“What do you FEEL about your marriages?”

March 23, 2020.

“Good morning
They were a big mistake”

“Good morning, Ahmed. It was your thoughts. But your feelings? Regretting only? Do you feel blamed? Pain? Relief? Are you offended? What?
I am not married as I wrote to you. But we have been living together for 21 years. I can tell you our story if you are interested.
I would not consider your marriages as mistakes. It is your life experience. Those women...are they married now or have a man?”

“Not married yet”

“So were You the reason why they left you? What do you think? Or the initiator and the applicant for divorce were you?”

Ahmed didn’t reply to her for two days. Olga realized that she had crossed the line of delicacy and should not wait for replies to her questions. So she'd changed the subject. Everything that she thought and wrote earlier, she completely forgot. With a few phrases, Ahmed swept out of her head everything that she intended to express about culture and other universal categories. She got this and was a little angry with him. Collecting her thoughts again was not easy.

The message  70
Hello, Ahmed.
Thank you for your question.
Today is my day off. I was doing nothing today: got up late, made breakfast this morning for us two, then wrote something to you and my Japanese, looked at the rate of Brent, wti and usd/rub because I bought dollars that day when I had written to you. My husband had to go to his deal this morning. When I went to my gym there were not many people, literally several visitors and several trainers: most people prefer sitting home scared with coronavirus. It is a wonder that drugstores are empty of masks and antiseptics but almost nobody is wearing the masks.
After I came from the gym, he was at home already. After having lunch I was getting asleep and I had a nape nestling on a sofa. When I was in the gym he made chicken forcemeat and wanted me to form croquettes. I was asleep and gave him a promise to do it. He left me, returned in a few minutes and I made it look like I was deeply sleeping. He kissed each of my eyes lightly and tenderly and went out of the room quietly. He had done the croquettes by himself.

How can I ignore such moments? Yes, I don't love him, never loved, I think. I appreciate his feeling, his kind heart, his thoughts for me, his adoration of me. If he wouldn't do such nice tiny actions I would never be with him for such a long time. I always told him that he should leave us. He is a free man, he is a handsome and energetic man, is able to start a new family in his country with a woman who will be able to give him children, he could be happier with her.
He has many things I don't like about him. Also, he MAKES many things I love. Such as I told you about. How can I refuse that beauty? What ought I do, Ahmed? I doubt that love, a love for me personally, exists. And I am not sure that being in love makes us happy. We never were cheating on one another, we are sleeping holding our hands, he always hugs me day and night, he massages me, canoodles, and I never do it to him, he suffers my small caprices and coldness. I don't love him because I am ready to farewell him right now, I don't need him, I am able to live without him, living single will not make me hapless.
What does it mean "to love" for you, Ahmed? Maybe I didn't understand you?
https://youtu.be/AGosobpsIDw


$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
The chunk =63= The message -379-

Every day Olga was photographed for Ahmed, standing in front of the mirror of the wardrobe in the office, because this was the only way to take a full-length photo.
The mirror was engraved with a pattern that cast shadows on her figure, and the harsh lighting from the LEDs on the dark brown bottomless ceiling made the shadows on the face rough. She tried to turn and adjust the camera in different ways, but the photos, despite all her efforts, turned out to be improperly sharp, she looked either younger or older than her years. "Well, okay," she thought, "he doesn't care, but I need to have the courage to take and send my photos to anyone. It takes some getting used to." She promised to send him a photo of herself every day, and she kept her promise almost always.
Sometimes she took pictures of herself in the mirror room in training. Her heart still beat faster each time she pressed the send arrow.
March 24, 2020
On that day, the whole morning was free, there were no customers and no work per se because people were agitated to stay at home because of the coronavirus. Many people were scared.
Olga spent the entire morning before lunch on the practice of English, namely, writing letters to Ahmed.
Instead of lunch, almost every day, she spent forty-five minutes practicing in the nearest gym. Usually, Olga did a warm-up on a treadmill and then went to the martial arts hall. The hall, covered with mats, was small and uncomfortable, but almost always empty. Sometimes men and guys came in there to box, they tortured the suspended bags with their feet, hands, and elbows. Sometimes a girl came boxing, very plump. Wearing boxing gloves, she had been torturing a 60 kg punching bag under the guidance of her trainer.
Olga did not have a coach. A personal trainer is a paid service now. In her youth, she attended the gym for the company with a friend. This thought, to become stronger, came to her mind because her brother often hurt her. She was 16-17 years old and wanted to be strong so that no one would ever touch her in order to be able to defend herself. Therefore, a friend was able to persuade her, a homebody, to go to the gym.
There was a very good coach of about forty years old. He showed in detail how to perform each exercise, insured the barbell, and gave recommendations on training and nutrition. In those years, the coach's guidance was not only free but also necessary, since the coach was responsible for those who attended the gym. This was the first and only legal gym at that time in her town.
Olga herself read about strength training, about wushu, about fitness: they had books on bodybuilding at home, because her older brother was fond of building a harmonious strong body. He could not attend a gym, because doctors, due to poor eyesight, did not give him a certificate for such exercises, so he bought dumbbells, a kettlebell, a barbell, equipped a bar at home, hung up a bag that he had sewn with his own hands and stuffed it with dry peas, and exercised with his friends at home. Our mother tried to hide the weights from him, took one 16-kilogram weight and the heaviest pancakes from the barbell to the neighbors, but he persisted and bought another. She had to come to terms with his hobby... So, without the guidance of a coach, illiterate training, he made his heart weak, which is why, partly, he died in his early years, he was not 31.
Olga later, at the age of 20, continued to visit the gym, but the coach was already different, he did not help. Self-training was often complicated by overtraining and myositis. Once her hands were swollen, she went to a doctor and for some reason, he pierced her joints. Several times she overloaded her legs so much that she went to university on tiptoe because it was painful to get up on her feet. So she ruined her veins. A green vein appeared under the knee joint at the age of 35 and she had to start wearing compression garments every day at the age of 40. She preferred fishnet stockings and now, in winter and summer, every morning, she, getting out of bed, pulled them on and took them off only when she went to bed. Apparently, she was a bad student of her coach.
The doctor forbade her heavy loads, but she did not want to deprive herself of the pleasure of training, deciding for herself, when after several years without exercises, her legs began to swell and it even hurt to slap the muscles of her legs, that sitting without movement was a much greater evil than doing weights. Now, after a year of training, there were no such pains and she felt better. She trained herself very safely now.
Olga was in a good mood, she took a picture in the mirrored wall of the hall with mats and, as usual, with some trepidation, sent the photo to Ahmed, continuing her independent studies.

The message  71
Hello, Ahmed.
There are people of high culture and down-to-earth people. All have something to tell, to retell, to say, to do or not to do demonstratively, what to show, how to behave. Nobody remains silent when things touch one's mind. It is the most difficult thing to keep his mouth closed even if you are not one who talks much. All that garbage we call culture in a wide sense.
Then our culture stratifies itself. As petroleum. Human society is not homogeneous, it is hierarchically defined. And the garbage of people stratifies: this thing is belonging to high culture due to some wise people claim it is, so other people have written that fact in a book and other people appoint the book's level among all the rest of the books. And this thing has to go through many cycles of the complicated hierarchical process. During its process of complexity, the thing itself does the stratification of people and vice versa. This is a constant incessant process depending on changes in society. The influence of all parts of society is directly or implicitly. Each person is important even in case it seems they are outsiders staying aside.

The message  72
Hello, Ahmed.
I must confess, for I want to be honest with you.
Having sex with my husband sometimes I can see your image in my head suddenly. I am feeling at that moment something middle between shame and a passion struck me. I cannot recognize it, but my blood at that moment becomes hot, I feel it is boiling-like in my veins. I always banish all such thoughts immediately because I understand they are just plays of my mind. Recently I was playing with your photos and now my brain is playing with your image. I need to see you alive, to listen to your voice, to feel your smell, and so on to fall for you, but I doubt it would happen anytime in the flesh. Maybe it would turn out you are disgusting to me as a male and as a person.
I have to admit, my brain decided your images are attractive physically for me. When I kept your images on my PC at work, sometimes I casually opened the file with your images, I often felt the same in my blood. Good is that I deleted them.

The message  73
Hello, Ahmed.               
I don't know what you did with your women so bad that they came away or you chased them off. I read some information because you decided to share with me your private matter. It's contradictory. One says in Algeria only men can apply for divorce and divorce has very bad consequences for women, other writes women can leave her husband with children and it is disgraceful for the man but the woman can live alone until her former husband allows her to get married. I don't know what among all of that is true. Probably depends on a person. My first feeling after reading some article was you really made two big mistakes because you spoiled the life of two women, but now I don't know what to think. I tend to consider that you have money (because marriage is an expensive deal in Algeria), you as a man have more rights in your country and in your religion, you have to have more responsibility in marriage even more so you got married to a woman almost twice younger than you. And it was just your caprice to get married to them and then to give them to go. I am sorry if I am wrong in accusing you. I don't want to make you feel pain. Have a nice day.
The message  74
Her face froze in an expression of crying. My mother died when I was 19. All the faces of  my other dead relatives I saw were cold, impassive. My father looked representative and formidable even in his coffin. My brother in his coffin looked like in his photographs when he was a kid: smart and eagerly alive. My grandma, uncles…I missed only the funeral when my father was buried: relatives decided I must remember him alive because I was 11. It was a solemn funeral. There was a crowd of people, an orchestra, many flowers, and funeral wreaths when I left it. I was left alone in my aunt’s flat with their dog. I spent that sad time typing on a piano key (they had a piano but I couldn’t play it) and the dog was singing. It sounded very mournful. I felt I should be sorrowful.
I had known about the death of my father after I saw on my mother’s shoulders his sportive jacket. I knew he was dressed in it in the hospital so I immediately knew that he passed away. Nobody will put on the clothes which were brought for washing. My mother hugged me and said: “Everything will be fine.”
Then were the funeral repast after they buried him. Many formidable people came to our house. I remember only one. One woman, young enough, was eating a salt cucumber with a very sad face when my mother showed her to me and said: “That woman was a secretary of your papa. They say a secretary of a man is usually his lover.” I don’t know why my mother told me that: I was so young and didn't even know what a naked male looks like! I had been looking at the woman to attentively memorize her. I felt I should think she is my enemy but she seemed harmless. Probably my mother was angry that they invited his lover to her home. We had never recalled that case later.
My mother’s funerals about ten years later were very modest. A funeral bus, several relatives, some flowers. My aunt hugged me so tight it was painful and said: “Everything will be fine!”. I laughed, breaking away from her embrace: “Yes, I know!”
We and my grandmother, the mother of my dad, came to her flat after the ceremony. She boiled buckwheat porridge and put a plate with it for me. I was sitting at the table and suddenly started crying. She stood perplexedly over me but I had chased her off into another room. My tears dropped in my buckwheat porridge.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
The chunk =64= The message -380-

Olga sent her photo: she stood in the wrestling hall near one punching bag, the second punching bag was being boxed by some guy.

"You do Sambo?" this time Ahmed answered almost instantly.

"Box. For all insulted women." Olga replied sarcastically. She was angry at both his silence and his sudden friendly bursts of talkativeness.

"I love boxing
And
I respect women" he had an annoying habit of not putting full stops at the end of sentences, writing each new sentence from a new line, sending the message in chunks, by phrase.
Olga did not answer, she had to finish her workout and she had only ten minutes left to change her clothes and return to the office. What's good about this gym is that it has huge areas. The hall had its own two-story building with a dashingly twisted steel decor on the fa;ade and there was enough "air" in the design of all rooms. It was called "AirGym", and the interior was played on the theme of airplanes of the early 20th century. On the stairs leading to the training facilities, visitors were greeted by the club's emblem, a mixture of a three-bladed propeller in the front and a pair of hawk wings in the background.
It got strongly warmer. Puddles, almost boundless, flooded the sidewalk, which was yet covered with ice. Olga made her way crossing a lawn, using a dog's path, steering to dry land, and, trying not to get her shoes dirty, walked along the curbs to clean footpaths, then crossed the pedestrian crossing at a red light, because there were no cars. Soon she was in her office.
After a quick meal, she sent Ahmed a matching, long-time-ago-created sticker that read "Are you sure, Ahmed?" but in the message she wrote, "I know, Ahmed :)" For some reason, she did not doubt that Ahmed was unable to offend a woman physically or with rude words directly to her face. "But behind the eyes," she thought, "he can say nasty things easily, for example, to his girlfriend, for example, about her, about Olga, and about her letters."
Ahmed laughed at the new stickers:
"Hahaha
Can you send me those photos ???
I quite love them
Please"

"Okay, today is the day of 'pretty farce'."
She submitted all the images that were in the sticker folder.

"Haha
Oh
Thank you very very much
Do you have kids with your partner?
Who is this man?" He returned one of the stickers with this question.
"By the way, you can use my photos as stickers
I found them really funny
Haha"

Olga understood from his questions that Ahmed had not read her messages, otherwise he would have known about her daughter, but then she realized that Ahmed did not know whether the daughter was born from this man or from another. She had never had any other men and therefore such a question seemed strange at first.

"Daughter 18 y.o." She replied.

Then she removed the unnecessary sticker from herself and from Ahmed, irrevocably. That sticker looked like a half-erased photograph in which only one face was clearly highlighted. It was Saperger, Hans Saperger. A talented psychiatrist. In Nazi Germany, he was one of those doctors who signed documents for mentally ill people, according to which these people were to be destroyed as hopeless and useless. Throughout the sticker was a discreet inscription "DECEPTIVE". Communicating with the withdrawn Ahmed, Olga began to suspect that he had some severity of Saperger's syndrome. This is a condition somewhat reminiscent of autism when a person has a reduced level of empathy and understanding of other people's behavior in general. Tseve Bojs is one of the prime examples of this syndrome. Olga did not want Ahmed to know about her suspicions, it could be a lie, an erroneous assumption, and offend a person.

"Why did you change your mood?" - Olga asked about the change in his attitude to the stickers.

"Because..I trust you more now..You scared me at first..You did a huge research on me .. I found it strange" now Ahmed pondered, typing the text, finding suitable words.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
The chunk =65= The message -381-

28/03/2020
The next morning Ahmed was awoken by a sound notification from Olga:

"Hello, Ahmed. I deleted all your photos. You can send me another of your 10-15 photos, I will make some new stickers for your sake. I need practice on my recently bought graphic tablet and making the stickers is interesting. I can not do what seems boring, even if I know I need to do it for my own benefit."
She really deleted all the photographs of Ahmed, except for two, where he is sad and where he is beautiful, and there were other stickers: she did it for so long, it's a pity to destroy them.

"Good morning .." - Ahmed greeted her politely, "I just woke up..Okay..I'll send you some soon" he promised and thought that he would never do such a stupid thing for this strange lady.

Ahmed was finishing his business at the university, soon he needed to fly to Algeria. Anxiety in the world grew. Many European countries quarantined long ago. Japan was in no hurry to introduce drastic measures for its citizens but tried to get rid of foreigners. Ahmed’s relatives in Algeria were worried about him, and calls from them became frequent. The sister was a doctor and had been instructed in detail about the new illness, so there was something to talk about. But there were more questions and assumptions than answers and reliable facts. Nothing was clear, the future was vague.
In such a disheveled mood, Ahmed was waiting for an air-jet and sadly read several messages from Olga, could not read to the end ... and fell asleep.

The message  76
Hello, Ahmed.
You’ve deeply touched me at last. I saw you in my dream today twice. I saw you for the first time.
The first. I saw you sent me a message: ‘Fine! Very rich language! Cool. It is a fine language!’, and after that many gif-stickers with moving stars in pastel-rainbow colors and the same gray-orange. So the dream was color. I scrolled three or four times before they ended. I was amazed and a bit insulted. I thought in my dream that you were laughing at me.
The second. I had found myself in a big hall. I didn’t see people but I felt there were a lot of them around me. Here I saw you, only your head, as if you turned your head out of me passing near me, then I saw several other guys who followed you. That’s all.
What is it? You disturbed my peace by your answers. Try to remain silent, Ahmed! I am trying to forget all you have born in me remembering my worst moments of life: but, it turned out, it was a useless attempt at therapy yesterday.
The message  77
Hello, Ahmed.
Yesterday Uptin (our country's president) announced about a week of global quarantine in each Russian city or town. All big malls and shops will be closed for a week. Our firm decided to work because we are so small. I am glad of that because I don’t want to lose my earnings.  I work part-time online from my office. Customers need only to choose decorative stuff for their furniture, otherwise, I could make orders full online. But on the other hand, I would like to rest at home. I like to be home. Before the last six years, I didn’t work. But after our daughter had grown up, he sometimes joked to me: “If I go away or die, how will you live without me?”  He thought I was not capable of earning money. Often he called me, kidding, “a parasite”. I was fed up with his words and went to work. He was very jealous. He visited all the places where I worked. Was bothering me with his questions about how many men work with me and so on. He is still uncertain about me)). He is right: in case if I earlier found work the probability, theoretically, to find another man could be higher, even more, because I am very amorous, he could lose me. Now I am getting older and uglier and he becomes quiet and colder about that each year. He was jealous of me to my Japanese friend Kaoro, despite the fact that he lives so far away and holds himself quite polite and cold. I didn’t tell my “partner” about Ahmed ***ri. Only my daughter knows I write letters to a guy that ignores me for three months. She said that I have nothing to do or I got crazy. Maybe Alzheimer's disease begins. “You’d rather continue learning Chinese!”, —  that was her advice, — "as a preventive measure".
Today in the minibus I commuted with ten people and only three of them were wearing masks including me. All of them were young people whose risqu; to catch the virus is minimal and old people ignore masks. I was dressed in a black mask, so one old man asked me ironically where he could buy black fabric. They are kidding and prefer to ill than be looking stupid or funny. It would be interesting to know what happens in Algeria now around coronavirus, but you chronically have no time and will to talk with a crazy woman. Have a nice day.
The message  78
Hello, Ahmed.
I have been in the gym today. They go to quarantine tomorrow for a week so I will miss them. And many of our suppliers will interrupt working. Maybe our firm’s production hall will take a gap due to logistic will to stop too, but I will be working if our business center will be still open these days.
Have you heard about Artem Agonov, materials, and chemical scientist? He has super perfect works and inventions. I have learned his laboratory can make computer experiments (crystal structure prediction) in order to find new stuff and to forecast its properties and properties in different conditions for already known matters. He says he is lazy to do real experiments but persistent enough to do his theoretical research. Quite interesting that when he came to the USA for work, he had almost nothing (as most new groups in USA Universities): there were old PCs and a laboratory room only. So he invented a program for his analyses that could calculate even on his old computer. Later he got several million dollars of grants for his development.  Now he works in Russia. Interesting that his ethnicity is Dagestan but he is a parishioner of a Catholic Church in Moscow. People from many countries use this program in their Universities that create difficult objects with strange or useful qualities even in weak computers somewhere in Bangladesh, India, Iran, et cetera. These last several years they made many corrections or matter’s structures, opened new materials that were confirmed, then, in experiments. It's cool.
The message  79
Hello, Ahmed.
Arabic
When my daughter was about 3 years old we went to Yekaterinburg zoo.
I like the zoo: it is always clean and has collected many creatures from all over the world.
I always regretted all those animals and insects which are jailed in zoos but I love to watch them. I can spend a lot of time in a zoo but we live in another town so I can visit it not very often. That time I memorized a behemoth from the zoo. As I remember, he had been working as a circus artist for a long time before he was sent to the zoo. He was about 50 years old, which is a maximum for his species.
Many people crowded around his cage. Later I understood why. We stood and looked at him when he got up and came so close to the metal fence that some people could touch his bright black thick whiskers. We all laughed merrily. Some brave people touched his face.
Then he steered to his shallow plunge pool and sank into the water up to his nostrils looking at us all. Then he made a deep long strong exhalation into water spraying water around. We all were wet and laughing, screaming. Then he got up half in water, demonstratively turned his back to us, and started to twirl and twist by his tail, fast splashing water and probably his feces. All were screaming, and jumped back off the cage. Hippopotamus started loudly laughing. His voice was deep and huge. Everybody laughed with him. It was so smart for an animal. He seemed to be kidding. He had been laughing with all of us for a very long time. I had a sense that the animal was very kind, knew people, and tried to communicate.
I have read about Algerians on the internet. It formed my comprehension about them, maybe wrong. Most of them seem to be similar to that hippopotamus: spend their days lazy, much talking with other men, watching their women, kidding sometimes kindly, sometimes roughly, living demonstratively and hiding their imperfections. They need to feel appreciated. Their kidding and voices sound similar loudly with the behemoth. They seem to be kind, smart, and funny as most Africans.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
The chunk =66= The message -382-

Olga thought about this young woman, Ahmed's second wife. She was his student in Algeria and defended her master's and doctor's degree under his supervision.
Olga really wanted to see how she looked. She knew the name of the woman from Ahmed's CV, as well as the name of his first wife, and assumed that they worked together in Japan, so she entered the name plus "Japan, Nagoya" in the search engine. She immediately found photographs from the laboratory of the Japanese department of Professor Todoroki Takaya, where Ahmed and his wife both were studying — Olga made a discovery. The photos were very blurry, small, almost nothing to see. But the young woman looked cute.
She was a short, plump woman with a beautiful rounded oval face, a large uneven nose, and large black eyes. In the photo, one could not see properly. They were very blurry, but the expression of her figure and face suggest the delicacy and submissiveness, possibly the forced submission of the person who possessed them. It seemed that under the black eyelashes lurked either mockery or arrogance, it was impossible to make out. Very modest in appearance, she behaved simply, almost shy, a little detached, but with dignity. She always was wearing a scarf on her head, often was dressed in clothes in a masculine way, hiding the fullness. In those photos, they never held each other's hands or arms. They did not even touch each other shoulder-to-shoulder. Like indifferent colleagues, they stood or sat in the photographs, but almost always side-by-side. Four years of joint photos... Photos with Ahmed were found in almost each of the collections for years, 15 years in a row. Almost all these years Ahmed studied and, later, worked at this department: signatures indicated the positions of Ahmed in specific years.
Olga found out why, by and large, Ahmed left Japan. This laboratory of Professor Takaya, under whose patronage Ahmed studied and worked for 15 years, was closed on March 31, 2016, due to the professor's retirement. And finding a good job for a foreigner, apparently, was not easy. The time of moving to Algeria roughly coincided with the time of Ahmed's second divorce. Then work in Japan was temporary, from time to time.
“It is interesting.” thought Olga.
When Olga was in school, their biology teacher long and diligently explained to the students the theory of evolution and variability, as well as the details of the inheritance of traits and the basics of genetics. She often repeated the story about Gregor Mendel, who discovered in his experiments on the hybridization of peas the difference in color, texture, size, and other traits in seeds and plants in different groups. And each time the experiment gave unexpected results, the biologist exclaimed, portraying Mendel: “Hmm...It is interesting!” Mendel said! ” so often that all the students memorized the phrase.
At the prom, in her farewell address, she concluded, "Well, dear students, of course, you remember what Mendel said?" And all 120 graduates echoed her in a loud chorus: "It is interesting, Mendel said!" and laughed.
Olga was very interested. Ahmed's fate seemed even more unusual than his portfolio and resume had suggested. "It is interesting. It seems that there will be many more interesting details, pleasant and unpleasant, about Ahmed, his character, and his life." she thought.

The message  80
Hello Ahmed!
You know, professor Todoroki Takaya is a quite pleasant person. He keeps the photos on the internet. I wanted to find a photo of your wife, Layla (a fine name). I typed her name in Google… She is a beautiful woman, modest, decent; she seems a bit uncertain in the company of free behaved Japanese. I've liked her. Cannot imagine what the hell happened that you divorced. Probably you are not. I would never give up on such a woman. Lovely woman. She's probably very kind. You can tell her :)
 
$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
The chunk =67= The message -383-

Ahmed was outraged by Olga's excessive curiosity and her teasing:  “I would never give up on such a woman. Lovely woman. She's probably very kind. You can tell her :)”

“Olga..Why are you so involved with my private life?
If you think my ex-wife is kind and beautiful..
This means.. I'm a bad person..
In this case, why are you keeping in touch with me ?? ”

Ahmed always put two dots instead of three dots and Olga liked this little detail. For some reason, these two dots seemed to her a manifestation of scrupulous exactingness.
“For the first time in this Telegram correspondence, Ahmed called me by my name. It is interesting!" - she exclaimed mentally.
Olga believed he did not know her name. The letter in the mail he, probably, immediately deleted. Apparently, he still kept the contact in Telegram under her name. She herself had a Luna account in Telegram at that time and believed that this name was displayed on Ahmed's side.

The message  81
Oh..you have found my name. It is nice and polite of you, Ahmed. Surprisingly.
Where did I say, even once, you are a bad person, Ahmed? This is your imagination and thoughts. Why is it so primitive? You both seem cool people and I am amazed how it is possible you are separate now.
Firstly I was wondering if a break of marriage is possible in such a Muslim country as Algeria. I know Muslim Arabic women often have a hot temper as most of their men. They are not angels in short. But they are warm. I know my husband’s family, his mother, father, brothers, and sisters. They are Muslims, near to Algerian as I concluded from watching movies and comedy serials from both of the countries. They have a similar national soul if their jokes are so close.
I think each person has good and bad features, makes good and bad actions, and (I am not saying about any marginal cases) all people are partly good, partly bad. Briefly, each person wants to be good because it is the nature of every human being but not all and not always manage to be.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
The chunk =68= The message -388-

He fulfilled his role as a guide into adulthood, a giver of benefits, and an inseminator for this girl, whom he made a confident and self-sufficient woman during those almost ten years together. Olga saw her avatar on Linkedin: perhaps a self-portrait. The portrait was painted in color: a woman with a large nose, but a pretty, cocky self-confident look. That’s how a woman feels if she puts such a picture for her avatar.
Olga felt pain, resentment, and disappointment because he, as it were, canceled the part of life of that woman, made all those years spent with her worthless, devaluing them with this one cold phrase with a grammar mistake "They was a big mistake". He crossed out all those good things that had happened in their relationship. Why is he so cruel? Superficial? Insensitive? Wounded? Can't he forgive her until now, if, say, she was the initiator or the reason for the divorce? Why?
They got married when she was still a student. She mentioned him, her husband, as is customary in Arab culture, in her master's degree in the introductory part dedicated to gratitude to teachers and other people who are somehow related to the master's studies. Ahmed also thanked his first wife for his master's degree ten years earlier, by the same way. He also overthrew the memory and experience of his first wife, and he also judged life with her as erroneous. But surely both of them gave him children. Olga almost hated him. "But, probably," thought Olga, "I am wrong: I can not draw conclusions from one random phrase. However, random phrases are often worth and mean more than thoughtful answers."
 
The message  82
Several days ago I had a dream. I found myself sitting in a clinic with other people. I came to a doctor to make a procedure. I didn't see their faces and the appearance of the man who went out of the room. I went in. Also, I didn't see the face of the doctor, but walls and a table and a window, maybe hardware equipment. He asked me not to move and pulled through my head and my body a tube made from rubber that had fixed my hands and legs pressed to my body. I felt foggy anxiety but allowed him to do his manipulation with me. The tube covered my head and face. Then he started slowly pushing through my throat another rubber smaller tube, deep into my lungs. I felt helpless and scared. I tried to trust him but felt a danger. Then I woke up.
I think death can be different. If you are well prepared for your hypothetical death by religion or having optimistic nature or prepared by a psychologist, your death would be fine and even the pain will have been gone or will be tolerable. In case you have come to death empty of the best expectations, not believing in paradise after death or in an eternal soul, your death can be the worst thriller you have ever seen. I assume people call it inferno.
Even one second of death can seem like a thousand years of hellish torments or the happiest paradise.
I only three times saw death: when my gran died from lung cancer, when we casually killed our canary by the closed on his neck a door and I watched how our Djungarian hamster had been dying from a long illness.
I was about twenty when my relatives asked me to spend that night with my grandmother in the hospital. When I came, she was lying with a mask and a tube on her face. Her eyes were closed. I told her I came. She did a deep hard husky inhale as if she wanted to greet me too. Then she had been dying quietly, moveless and silent for several hours.
Maybe she felt the same as me in my dream that night and she was in a tube, and at last, she couldn't do an inhale or to do her last exhale. I would wish she was happy dying, seeing her childhood and the happiest day in her life. Once she told me: she was eleven or twelve, was going with her boyfriend across a forest; they were eating cherry and spit cherry's pits as further as possible, competing with each other.
Death of our canary was so fast, he just trembled for several seconds when we were crying.
Our hamster was very old. He had cancer. It was a long hard death, his body suffered from waves of pain, terrible. I tried to stroke him, he pressed himself to my hand despite that he was not very domestic. I felt he was terrified, but of course, I can make mistakes easily giving human features and feelings to the animal. He did not make any sounds. I often heard that animals are dying, remaining silent. My uncle was a hunter until he saw a wounded moose dying crying in silence, dropping big tears.
Ahmed, it occurred to me you might be suffering from my research of you. Maybe, you felt in such a tight tube where you could not move, breathe, you felt helpless, and were scared due to my watching you. Maybe, you are a very harmless, sensitive, soft inside person whom such attention seems torture. In this case, you had a good experience to feel famous. Imagine you became a superstar and journalists from all over the world spy after you. Spy? I thought that the information opened for everyone is open for me too. Am I wrong?
I am not interested in your private life actually, how you concluded wrong. I tried to understand what kind of person you are. It was difficult due to the fact you refused to talk with me. And we judge people by their actions, not by their appearance or words. I tried to find how you act usually, which are your goals and wishes, and attitudes. What is your walk of life? Who are your family and your place there? Which is your ethnicity and how do you relate to it? How do you communicate with other people, men, and women? I only wanted to get who you are in real life and the question, if you divorced or not, was only important in this direction. Once I was joking about your married/not married status. But it turned out that your marriage is the most painful question. Why? I wish I could help you. Be happy, Ahmed!
I do not want to kill you. You were polite and delicate with me, did not say even one rude word. Did not block me.. You gave me room to move and to breathe here.
I wonder why you had read my messages if they were not interesting. Okay. I will continue further if you'll allow me if you'll decide to give me life. Death can be horrible. I am not ready to leave life here happily yet.
My motto now is “Space and light, and order”. Those are the things that one needs as much as one needs bread or a place to sleep. But that phrase has a wider sense for me than it was first assumed in it.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
The chunk =69= The message -389-

Olga felt an absolutely childish fear when it was necessary to talk about herself or, even worse, send her photo. "Stupid fear," she told herself, sending the photo to Ahmed, "however ... I need to have lunch."
She often forgot to eat the food she brought with her in a plastic container every day. Everything needed for lunch was in the office: she worked alone, in a large closed room, where there were a microwave oven and a portable refrigerator hidden in the bowels of furniture samples.
This time there was rice with pickled carrots. Quickly loading it all into her stomach, she drank green tea for a long time. She did not know how to drink tea quickly. She drank from small cups or glasses, like a Chinese, pouring hot tea, and then waiting for a long time for the tea to cool down.
They say that if your relatives died early, there is a high probability that you will leave this world at the age of that. She had relatives who lived for a very long time, more than 90 years, at least 75, these are, for the most part, grandparents, and those who died being very young. All her closest relatives: father, mother, and brother passed away before she was 25 years old.
Her father's illness could have been provoked by hepatitis he suffered in childhood or his service in the Russian missile forces in the army. He was 41, and Olga was 11 when he went away, but her mother and brother believed that he was poisoned by the Russian special services because he was too honest a leader-in-charge.
The mother may have received a good dose of radiation from an explosion at the Chernobyl nuclear power plant, where she was near on a business trip. Years later, Olga supposed that it had caused a brain tumor and for eight months she had been slow. She was 50.
The brother killed his heart and kidneys with booze, endless smoking, and uncontrolled hard training. Also, in his childhood, at the age of 12, he experienced clinical death and was in a coma for a week or two, which made his heart weak. He died at 31.
Olga was physically the weakest of all in the family, thin like a prisoner of Auschwitz — they joked at school — like skin-and-bones, like a fashion model of the 90s. She was expecting death at the age of 30 when she was told there was a tumor in her breast: it had resolved.
She expected to die at 40 when she became swollen after a series of hard training so that it was impossible to take blood for analysis from any vein, not even from her leg: the blood flow seemed to have stopped or the blood thickened. No one ever told her why she had such a dangerous reaction to overtraining, but she recovered in two weeks. The next term is 50 years. She doesn't have any serious illnesses. The pressure was like an astronaut. Thinness was replaced by a strong thin muscular frame, however, fat deposits have already begun to accumulate on the thighs and abdomen: one and a half centimeters thick fold on the abdomen. Her husband usually laughed when she showed him how she “got fat”, and the daughter frowned in displeasure: this fat was sluggish and lost its tonus as all elderly ladies have.

The message  83
Hello Ahmed.
Death is a very interesting thing.
Everybody and everything dies: people, animals, trees, microorganisms, metals, molecules, atoms, stones, clouds, rainbows, our thoughts, our love.
But death is always the beginning of something new. Garbage is a corps of things and a beginning of..it depends on a creator/utilizator. If our culture is garbage we must find good methods for utilization of it, for not to be buried or get ill among it. So we have someone special who sorts the garbage. Some of the garbage is sent to waste recycling, some go in museums as artifacts being useful for the future creating new ways of utilization and also for memory. Some of the garbage, one tends to think, is destroyed forever but the process of utilization just makes other forms. Death borns new things that immediately become garbage being told or thought. All born things are at the same time dead. There's only a moment of life, the time of utilization.
Our brain seems to be that instrument that creates garbage working constantly. And our consciousness is a communicator between garbage created by other people and by nature and a particular person. This process is not extended in time. Exchange by problems,one after one, goes at its tempo. Maybe it has many cycles, periods of changing of intensity or speed, and so on. We can find and describe rules of the brain and consciousness and find relations with our garbage, but we cannot explain why it exists. Why does it collect some particular garbage in its museums and why recycle others? Why does it make such a choice? Does it die with its body?
Society is a reflection of our brains and many consciousnesses complicated by actions. We live, move, act, behave in the current moment. All the fabric of society is being changed and is changing, it kills, dies, gives birth, and is born.
Garbage, waste, trash...everywhere. I am overwhelmed by that all and I have a lack of structured forms of that, a place to keep some of that in memory, the light to understand and see something in its disorder. I need space, light, and order.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
The chunk =70= The message -390-

The Russian government decided to introduce a strict self-isolation regime in almost all cities of the country. Vladimir Uptin declared the week from March 30th to April 5th non-working days for the whole country. The governor of the town signed a decree on the introduction of a self-isolation regime from 00:00 on April 3th, 2020. The residents in self-isolation were allowed to go outside to the nearest stores, walk their dogs, take out the trash, and move to work (for workers of those enterprises that were allowed to work). Olga's enterprise was forced to close the office to avoid fines. They decided she will work online from her home, and work out orders. The salary was cut. Olga's normal earnings were not expected that month. Life, however, did not stop. Requests for quotations for furniture came albeit in smaller volumes. Olga had not put aside any money in the past months and was worried about what would happen if this situation dragged on. She stocked up her fridge on groats, to avoid starvation in case something went wrong. Their company could go bankrupt, like many others, and then no work could be found at all. She still remembered empty grocery stores in the 90s: their family, mother — a widow with two minor children — received rations from the state in a separate grocery store as they had lost a high-ranking breadwinner, but even in these privileged departments it became catastrophically empty.
In April 2020, buckwheat disappeared in stores for a while: Olga was not the only one who worried and remembered the 90s.

The message  84
What forces us to make a choice? They say each brain makes calculations and decisions, our consciousness just seems an instrument for sharing its hidden work with others and with thyself. A brain is a cold machine but consciousness is always colored by emotions. Consciousness is full of fairy tales we are believing in. We call it "reality". The belief seems to be the main force that pushes us to live. I suppose that it should be something in our brain like null and one of computers, a simple code.  For example, to believe or not to believe — that is the nucleus of our brain and, probably, of each of our cells, or atoms. This code should be the base for all organisms: difficult, and the most primitive. Maybe atoms or something we don't know yet have such nature. What if there are kinds of particles of belief?
It's funny.
A kid was not yet born, but it can feel the blood pressure, heart beating, and change in the staff of tissues of his mother. The kid gets a kind of calibration while he is grown in her body. The calibration gives his verification system based on that simple system of yes-no (I will call the positive side of that as "belief") the simplest way of how to behave. Then this system has been complicated day by day by collecting all the garbage that the kid is getting from other people and from his own behavior (when he contacts with its environment). Thus his calibrated verification system helps him to survive and complicate himself or his belief. "Reality", as I said, is what we are believing in.  Our "belief" becomes complicated — our reality seems to us more wide and different. So one is what one believes in because one himself is a part of one's reality. I think I made many mistakes while ranting, but I've just tried to make the first blind steps in "darkness".