The can conveys beer to the glass. The glass conveys beer to the mouth. The mouth savors the flavor, the hops convey sharpness on the tongue. The mouth conveys the beer to the stomach, where it is conveyed into mostly empty calories and a pleasant, numbing, warm sensation towards mankind and oneself.

Beer is a conveyor belt for sadness and joy. It depends on the mindset of the individual. Drinking can be a joyful act, a fraternal activity done with friends, opening up the mouth to more freely share thoughts and desires. It can bond one to another, at least initially. Drinking can be a sad, destructive act, slamming a fragile body with poison meant to numb pain and sensation. A brain dunked into a floating tankard, bobbing along and soaking up suds.

Our bodies are conveyor belts, moving sensations and information through our cells, our eyes, our skin; urine and feces being trucked out. We swallow and expel. We move through the world on two feet, one step at a time, the ground pushing against our shoes as we move. The city shuffles us around, moving bodies from workplaces to home, to supermarkets and coffee shops. Sometimes we look up and see something different, most times we don’t. The sidewalks are made of brick, roots snake underneath them and ripple up through the stonework, making movement treacherous. This isn’t a treadmill, it’s not an even surface, so we have to stare down at the ground sometimes so we don’t lose our balance and fall. This practice is okay. But don’t forget to look ahead sometimes, tonight is the super-blue-blood-harvest-moon.

Words are imperfect conveyors of ideas. They force themselves into our heads, just by looking at them. They make images and feelings appear. It can be pleasant or jarring. Our minds are permeable, they are layered and protected, but information passes between the barriers too. When we see a capitalized swear word, it jars us. When we see a poem, it can sooth us. Words transmit energy, they have power. Words can be a jumbled mess that doesn’t mean anything. Words can sadly be disposable, tweets and posts and status updates disappearing into the void of cached Google pages, never to be viewed with any interest again. Some stories are stubborn, however, and stay in our minds, long after the word is forgotten, the book closed, the phone powered off. Some stories linger.