One morning, Howard was deciding what he was going to cook for today's lunch. Howard was not the worlds best cook, he mainly enjoyed buying ready meals to eat, Fishermans Pie was his dearest. But today was to be different; a change; he would make something from scratch. He decided that Carbonara met his fancy, so he got up from his wearing sofa, and made his way to the half filled book cabinet. 'How to make Pasta', the book read. It was a result for Howard. He clinched his hands on the closed book, and bought it into the front room.Howard opened the book to the contents and turned to page 21, 'Carbonara Chicken Special'. Howard firstly read the ingrediants needed, then popped to the local convinience store to fetch the things he needed. When he eventually started the meal, he was on task and ready to go. So he prepared the sauce, and the pasta, and the chicken. Then put it in the oven, a fourty-five minute wait.Howard was knackered by this time and thought he'd have a quick lye down..."BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP"!!!!!!!!!!!!!   This incredibly loud noise was coming from the smoke alarm, startaling Howard! He rushed to the kitchen to discover masses of smoke dominating the room. Howard glanced up at the the clock to discover that he had been sleeping for over an hour. The pasta was ruined and had to be thrown away.Howard was starving though. So he went over to the freezer, grabbed a microwave fishermans pie, and heated it up. As he sat down to eat the meal, he thought to himself; ' Well I gave it a go, one step closer eh'. Then digged into his seafood.

its a discontorted reality birthed from the mush of what is and could be´s but wasn´t and won´t yet still carries the presence of that which should have been what hadn´t seen before.
its a cold beer getting warm, one of three put in the fridge next to the cheese and butter under the liver across from the milk and the jelly who wanted to be eaten but only saw the hot get cold, I´ll drink you slowly tonight.
its this little fly that keeps landing on my left arm as I stare at blue capped deoderant canisters wishing for the year 1995 video game joy as I shake a shake and eat coconut tasting cookies with no coconut anything listed in the ingrediants.
its the warm night slipping his fingers down the back of your pants as you inch forward resisiting what you secretly want, a bead of sweat runs over your lips as you cry out and find your own hands reaching where warms ones wont.
its an unfinished pool that needs five truck loads of sand, three of rocks, five of dirt because the dirt can´t touch the sand and the the rocks can´t touch the pool if we want to swim while the sun is high and the clouds are sparse.
its that feeling you get as your walking up dark steps and you run you run and you never know why, its the listening without having to know, its the yes to your goodbye, its the I can so I will move on, its the no longer a boy I finally feel like a man, its any pants are too tight with a *******.
its life.

The recipe to comply - oh how the Ingrediants are Ever So Rare.
As my journey proceeds on- Ill prove to accumulate
More and More As I live on,
With the Simplicity of my personal reassurance  
I bid you adue - Good Luck On That search
For The Worlds Most Rare Ingredients