This is my space. I write the words here. I am the ghost in the machine. These words are the voice of the beer you have been drinking, or will soon drink. The words are profane, pedestrian, vulgar. These words are not refreshing, they are not magical like the beer they colorfully wrap. You and I have only words and these words are my nearly desperate attempt to be understood. The beer beneath me is never desperate, it is nearly sacred. It is a promise. It knows that it is a dream of running in grass, a dream of music in the sky, a bridge to another shore. It is a communion wafer on your tongue and you take it into your body in the same hopeful transcendent pursuit of solace and community with the eternal. Of course, it isn’t any of those things unless you want it to be so, but neither is the communion wafer. These words are all I have, but the work of the guadrillion yeast cells acting in their own eternal congress and the message that they have for you, shepherded by a handful of brewers to you in this form is a thing that you now have, in your mind, in your hand and soon, once again, in your mind. The time for words is ending now…Call us sometime and share some words! 707-769-4495 Cheers!