The beer has a quarter inch of head. It is cloudy and mysterious. The foamy bubbles slowly pop and end their existence. There is a calmness to the beer as it sits and waits for consumption. It settles. It is stable and yet full of possibility. The head begins to dissipate. I do not love ice cold beer. It feels rushed, hurried. Full of over eager moments. I like to let the beer settle into the glass, to absorb the spirit of the room. As the coverage of foam begins to fade, and the color of the beer shows through, I know it’s almost time for the first sip.
I lift the glass and the coaster comes too. A pet peeve but also just science in action, right? I try again but add a pinky as a blocker to keep the coaster from coming along. It leaves my hand with a pinky out perception. And my anxious mind begins to wonder if the coaster lifting or the pinky out is a worse event.
I lift the glass to my lips and the melancholy slightly warm nature of the glass presses against my lips. The hazy nectar flows against my taste buds. Tart at first, then sweet. Chilling but not shocking my mouth. As the glass returns to its protective station, the lacing on the glass begins to form. Bubbles, unique as snowflakes cluster against the glass. The music from the jukebox flows seemingly in time with the lacing as it takes residence on the side of the glass.
It is in this moment where you can begin to feel like a child laying on a hill, staring at the clouds. Images and shapes and imagination becoming apparent, things that once are seen can’t me unseen. A baseball diamond. A constellation of stars. A honeycomb shape which makes the mind think of colony collapse. Something that is not as easily understood as it seems.
The glass waits for round two. The color and haziness never fading. I lift the glass again and the impetuous coaster follows along. The pinky defense succeeds again this time with my chaos than class. Again the hazy liquid crosses the lips and tames the taste buds as it continues down the gullet. Another layer of imagination inducing lacing appears on the glass. Is that a ship? Florida? Or the ghostly face of a hammerhead shark?
The second sip leads to a third and then a forth. Helps to fend off the image of a ghostly hammerhead shark. As the drink begins to absorb into the system, the desire to see the imagination in the lacing fades. Maybe it was the shark. More likely it was the end goal all along. Each sip is savored. Yet the lacing begins to go unnoticed. The imagination and dreaming left behind.
Eventually there is a burp, a gastronomic moment that belies any inspiration or purpose. And then as I cover my mouth in shame. I glance at the glass. The lacing catches my eye. Is that a deer? A giraffe? A friendly llama - as if there is another kind. And for a moment again the imagination, the wonder is present again.
I turn the glass, examining the lacing again for mysteries and symbols. On the back side I see an aqueduct leading to a sea monster, it’s long arms lashing at the ancient waterway. Above it, birds of prey, trydactles or some other kind of scavenger wait to pounce and enjoy the impending buffet. As I turn the glass, it appears that there is a beam or a vein of energy or even lightening flowing toward the sea monster. I follow the stream back to its end, in the shape of a bat or perhaps when taking perspective into account, a dragon. Here on the other side of the glass is an aqueduct under attack from a sea monster with long limbs and his scavenger pals in tow that is being protected by a dragon spouting fire. What could be a more natural battle, water against fire.
The music distracts from the story being told in the lacing of the glass. I look away. And then instinctively take another sip. The scene changes. Gone are the sea monster and the dragon, the aqueduct has vanished. In its place a skeletal structure reminds. The bones of the dragon? Of the monster of the sea? I will never know. My inattention and haste took a portion of the story from me. And from you.
I lift the glass and the liquid catches the light from above. Still hazy, still blocking truly seeing through but weaker, damaged, at a level of distraction. Something makes me uneasy - either that I missed the next part of the story or that I destroyed it with my thirst.
The glass is empty. The lacing a scattered history of the story and of the waste left behind.
I tell myself that it doesn’t matter. But deep down I will always wonder.
Was the wreckage the sea monster or the dragon? And did I cause it all?
I lift the glass and the coaster comes too. A pet peeve but also just science in action, right? I try again but add a pinky as a blocker to keep the coaster from coming along. It leaves my hand with a pinky out perception. And my anxious mind begins to wonder if the coaster lifting or the pinky out is a worse event.
I lift the glass to my lips and the melancholy slightly warm nature of the glass presses against my lips. The hazy nectar flows against my taste buds. Tart at first, then sweet. Chilling but not shocking my mouth. As the glass returns to its protective station, the lacing on the glass begins to form. Bubbles, unique as snowflakes cluster against the glass. The music from the jukebox flows seemingly in time with the lacing as it takes residence on the side of the glass.
It is in this moment where you can begin to feel like a child laying on a hill, staring at the clouds. Images and shapes and imagination becoming apparent, things that once are seen can’t me unseen. A baseball diamond. A constellation of stars. A honeycomb shape which makes the mind think of colony collapse. Something that is not as easily understood as it seems.
The glass waits for round two. The color and haziness never fading. I lift the glass again and the impetuous coaster follows along. The pinky defense succeeds again this time with my chaos than class. Again the hazy liquid crosses the lips and tames the taste buds as it continues down the gullet. Another layer of imagination inducing lacing appears on the glass. Is that a ship? Florida? Or the ghostly face of a hammerhead shark?
The second sip leads to a third and then a forth. Helps to fend off the image of a ghostly hammerhead shark. As the drink begins to absorb into the system, the desire to see the imagination in the lacing fades. Maybe it was the shark. More likely it was the end goal all along. Each sip is savored. Yet the lacing begins to go unnoticed. The imagination and dreaming left behind.
Eventually there is a burp, a gastronomic moment that belies any inspiration or purpose. And then as I cover my mouth in shame. I glance at the glass. The lacing catches my eye. Is that a deer? A giraffe? A friendly llama - as if there is another kind. And for a moment again the imagination, the wonder is present again.
I turn the glass, examining the lacing again for mysteries and symbols. On the back side I see an aqueduct leading to a sea monster, it’s long arms lashing at the ancient waterway. Above it, birds of prey, trydactles or some other kind of scavenger wait to pounce and enjoy the impending buffet. As I turn the glass, it appears that there is a beam or a vein of energy or even lightening flowing toward the sea monster. I follow the stream back to its end, in the shape of a bat or perhaps when taking perspective into account, a dragon. Here on the other side of the glass is an aqueduct under attack from a sea monster with long limbs and his scavenger pals in tow that is being protected by a dragon spouting fire. What could be a more natural battle, water against fire.
The music distracts from the story being told in the lacing of the glass. I look away. And then instinctively take another sip. The scene changes. Gone are the sea monster and the dragon, the aqueduct has vanished. In its place a skeletal structure reminds. The bones of the dragon? Of the monster of the sea? I will never know. My inattention and haste took a portion of the story from me. And from you.
I lift the glass and the liquid catches the light from above. Still hazy, still blocking truly seeing through but weaker, damaged, at a level of distraction. Something makes me uneasy - either that I missed the next part of the story or that I destroyed it with my thirst.
The glass is empty. The lacing a scattered history of the story and of the waste left behind.
I tell myself that it doesn’t matter. But deep down I will always wonder.
Was the wreckage the sea monster or the dragon? And did I cause it all?
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