Several pieces have been written for this mystery of a device. Recently Mural 1 for an Opening and Mural XIV: Introitus. To spend time as if a matter of industriously fruitful advantage might be conceived is lost on this unforgiving fjord of a click. That is a Click is a tick of a calculated process of which I still know nothing. There is some sort of manual but it is easier to pass the bar and invoke alcoholic themes than to engage the device. It is a cleaved machine of sanguine warmth made for cleaning debris of lost cause. The manufacturer’s book of parts is three inches thick in small print. The only clue to assembling the pieces for proper affect is to line up the inscription, right here.