The bekkenkneed is a daunting task and taxing to the muscles of the forearms and digits. A prolonged repetitive motion is unfortunately necessary and it is essential to formulate a rhythm and maintain it. Otherwise you set back yourself and put off the instigation of convulsions by hours. My rheumatic hands cannot keep up, but I must continue this research! My more liberal colleagues have advocated the time-saving usage of the tongue, but these men are syphilis infested dogs, their minds wasting away with their age. The turf of the prone graphic fen berg is inundated with mystery and a regrettable lack of documentation. It is said before the the sky fell and crushed the men undercloud, we had an extensive knowledge of such territories. It is to regain that forgotten knowledge that I belabor myself to stare deep into the dark crook of these impoverished creatures and piston my arm towards exhaustion and scientifically document their responses to external stimuli. My handwriting suffers because of this. But there is something missing, something crucial to the process that lingers at the tip of my tongue… if only it would come to me.