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Whistling 
Another aspect of the symbolic sign system we have come to call language. These gestures we make, sometimes in a knowing or even known way. I sometimes find myself whistling while I walk. I rarely whistle while I sit.

Things happen 
Each day slightly different, things happen, the system we have become beholden to tends to become a form of imposed reality. So much tends to point towards that reality. That or this aspect of everyday life. Seemingly fragmented, arbitrary. 

Continuities
The reality of self seems different, it can easily pass by. I imagine a continuity, a trail, a trace of my being. This seems to be what happens each morning through this sitting, water, coffee, writing in the notebook, and here in this email to you. A form of recollection of this life of being, rather than the general term of 'human being', or being human, a written form of my being. I see my photography as also a form that alludes to my being, a sense of continuity. 

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