This universe ends somewhere. Beyond the garnish glam of today’s shiny baubles, lies a disjointed, rather chaotic world of the mind’s creation. Governing the bounds of this visual exploration are no laws or rules, just imagination. Here reside the amalgamated bastards of thought, the tattered remains of contempt and the evocative burst of pure bliss. Met with the confines of reality, we ascend with this worthy receptacle. Theorized of Pilsner, oats, rye, and a blend of six otherworldly hops, this IPA is dry-hopped twice and fermented on our house yeast. Made to quell our innermost fears. Derived from our most outward desires.