April 5, 2013 § Leave a comment


Mens Vintage Cologne

There, in the head nurses arms, was a child soon to be a good man. The child grew to a boy then a teenager. In high school, his father gave him his first bottle of cologne. It was a bottle of Royall. The young boy then on the day of receiving his gift, applied only a single spray before school. It wasn’t by coincidence that he suddenly became more attractive to the ladies but that it was certainly because he smelled so good. So as he gathered his things such as his keys, wallet and watch he would make it a habit that before he headed out the door, he would spray not once but twice from the bottle of Royall. He won the game that homecoming night, got the girl and went home feeling like a King. In his mind he imagined it was because he smelled so good. It was sometime after college that he walked the stage with his class in search of that great career. It just might have happened that he got the job because he smelled so good. He met his wife in the diner that evening. She sat peacefully reading the paper when she was interrupted to borrow the salt. She had mentioned several times that it was because he smelled so good. When the call to arms came, he kissed his lovely wife, grabbed what he knew was important; her photo, his wedding band and of course, that old bottle of Royall. He wrote to her every night as artillery lit the warm, dark blue sky, spraying his letters not once but twice of Royall. It was torturous and satisfying to the young wife. On his return, safe from harm, she held before him a handsome young boy. It was on his 5th birthday that the boy knew his father by the distinct smell of that old bottle of Royall. As years had passed and the man had lived a life of great deeds he passed on his old bottle of Royall. It was, to his son, the greatest memorabilia that he ever retained. The day his father died and bequeathed his cologne, he sprayed not once but twice a spray of old Royall. He never felt more powerful and humble and he knew this feeling all too well; it because he smelled so good.


March 30, 2013 § Leave a comment

The man wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand. Dry soil had covered his face by now. His chest, back and head ached from the beating. The young cowboy slowly crept toward the bloody and bruised man; his worn leather boots chiming with every step.

“Is it really worth it?” the cowboy said to the beaten man.

“Look at their faces.” The cowboy pointed his pistol at the man’s wife and sons, frightened of the outcome. “Is this what you want for them; to be husbandless and to be fatherless?”

“I want…”

BANG! A single shot echoed the dry valley. The man’s wife and son’s bellowed out horrifying cries.

An older man, finely suited, stepped off his horse. The cowboy stood back as he approach the dead man on the ground.

“I had bargained with him too long.” The suited man said. He put his  pistol back in his holster. “This land and the water beneath it, now belongs to the town. This man, your husband and your father, died a hero today.”

The suited man returned to his horse, followed by the cowboy. The cavalry began to ride off save the young cowboy. He trotted over to the weeping family, looked at the eldest of the two sons, consumed with anger and fear, and said,

“I will be waiting for you.”

Heir, Jedlin

March 27, 2013 § 2 Comments

The pouring rain further carried his frustration to an even worse state and the umbrella Jedlin had been using proved useless. To make matters worse, a hurried gust of wind had grab hold of his faulty device and threw it to the ground. Watching it tumble its way down the road, he released a sigh of forfeit. He pressed on despite, dripping wet.

Jedlin finally made his was inside a nearby diner, just to allow the storm to settle. As he took his seat in the booth near the entrance, he noticed a young girl holding the broken umbrella. It had occurred to Jedlin that the girl was looking to return it to its owner. He immediately stood from his chair and began walking towards the diner’s door, but just before he was about to exit he paused. Starring out the window panes he noticed that instead of using the umbrella, the girl had it neatly folded and banned. The poor girl reminded him of the day his Father handed him his feather.

Jedlin continued through the diner’s door, down the stairs into the streets. As soon as the girl met eyes with Jedlin’s, she immediately walked up to him and handed back his black umbrella. The two stood there in the pouring rain not saying a word. Jedlin didn’t see a scared young girl but a humbled soul, the soul, and he felt certain it was her.


Jedlin sat at the foot of his father’s bed. He watched as his father tied his bow tie to his black and white tuxedo. He didn’t know where his father was going and was never curious enough to ask.

“I’m scared of failing,” the young Jedlin said to his Father. “I’m scared of having it all taken away from me. This temple from which I stand upon to protect, I feel I cannot promise to keep them from tearing it down. Even if I am to fortify it with all my might and strength, I fear those forces may someday take what you have intrusted me to protect.”

“Then, my dear son,” his Father chimed in, “you must seek a person with even greater strength to fight for His people as I have done with you. I looked far and wide for someone to take my place and His holiness showed me you. I have faith in you, my son, as my Father had faith in me.”

Jedlin’s Father pause to look at his son.

“You have it with you, right?” He asked.

Jedlin reached inside his pocket and pulled out a cloth, unwrapping it to reveal a white feather. Jedlin’s father smiled as he turned back to the mirror to make the final arrangements to his attire.

“There will come a day when you will need to find your replacement. Someone who is humble, meek and selfless. So be ready for that soul.”


The young girl appeared cold and hungry. Jedlin looked at her and asked, “are you homeless?” The girl shook her head in conformation.

“Why are you out here? Why don’t you find yourself some place warm to sleep and a hot meal to eat instead of relying on others to help you?”

The young girl looked at her feet ashamed, handed Jedlin his umbrella and began to walk away.

“Don’t you want something to eat?” Jedlin yelled out.

The girl turned and again nodded her head.


An old Jedlin laid weak in the ancient bed, prepared for his fate. He reached for the leather-bound booklet, worn from perpetual use, containing the lineage of Jedlins. From the beginning of human kind, every Jedlin had recorded the passing of the feather.

He held the book gravely one last time before he handed it to his daughter.

“Come over here,” he said to her. “That night at the diner, when you brought me my umbrella. I knew I had found you.”


Jedlin stared at the young girl, witnessing her swallow the many layers of pancakes whole. He then laid on the table in front of him a one-hundred dollar bill and a single white feather.

“I want to make this easy for the both of us. Take the $100 and pay for this meal, a room with a hot shower and a place to rest in peace for the evening. After indulging yourself, you will find that when you wake, you will remain desolate and abandoned for the rest of you life. Take the white feather as a reminder to find it in your heart to care and love for those who suffer greater than you. After a while, when it is time, I will call for you. Then, will you find, that the feather of my Fathers have given you riches greater than this one-hundred dollar bill by an infinite degree.”


Jedlin handed the book to the now grown woman.

“I watched you grow into a great person. Greater even than I could imagine. It is your turn to hold this temple firm as your Father has and my Father before me. We watched you care for the weak, feed the hungry, give shelter to the homeless. It was no accident that we met. I took you in and had you taught at the finest schools. You learned from professors who have taught for thousands of years.”

“Jedlin’s are God’s Angels. I am Jedlin the 17th. You are the 18th and Commander of the 18th Regiment.”

Jedlin watched her lips moved as she read the following pages:

Jedlin XVI – Jailed for stealing, 28

Birth – 11 October 1716

Death – 18 January 1886

Jedlin XVII – Rescued from a ship wreck, 16

Birth: 18 January 1886

Death: 27 March 2024

Jedlin XVIII – Homeless, found outside a diner, 12

Birth: 27 March 2024


“Wait,” the young woman replied. “It shows your death and my birth as today.”

“The moment you step out of this house, the war begins. Alas, here comes your army now.”

The doors to Old Jedlin’s bedroom roared open to a slurry of men and women of great health. One-by-one they filed in to witness the passing of the feather. They were shielded and sword, masked and armored. Their eyes were a bright, burning blue flames and their wings were beautifully white and great in size.

“You have it with you?” Jedlin asked the young woman. She turned to Jedlin and reach into her pocket, pulled out a piece of cloth and revealed a white feather.

“You carried that white feather these many years so that we may be with you during your journey. That feather encompasses all that we are.”

He took the feather from her, held it above his head, closed his eyes and prayed.

“Eat our Father’s feather and become a Jedlin.”

The woman took the feather from Jedlin XVII, put it in her mouth and ate it.”

Old Jedlin smiled as his body began to radiate with heat. Beams of light began to penetrate his skin, consuming him more and more until finally, the old man vanquished. When the woman opened her eyes she found on herself the wings of an Angel. She stood, spread her wings in at its glory, naked as the day she was born.

“Hail! Jedlin the Eighteenth! Fighter of demons!”

The Butcher’s Block

March 26, 2013 § Leave a comment

Tethered to the drunken, old man, the checkered, worn wooden block, slightly sunken in from perpetual use waits in aggravated anticipation, reeling him in every morning through the snow covered hills west of the Rockies, singing the same shrill tune that makes even his blades quiver as he endures yet another never ending saturated battle, slicing, drinking, sweating, slicing, drinking, until finally, at night fall, after the two have had their fill, retire soundly into the dreams of those, belly full and plumped but tethered and waiting for the shrill sound of their own.

Make It Hot

March 21, 2013 § Leave a comment

He leaned in, folding his hands in front of him, and looked her straight in the eyes with that devilish smile. Somehow, all too familiar with his kin, she was taken aback by his confidence; by the leather straps of his watch, his slim tie, and neatly polished shoes. There was something qualifying about his confidence and vigor, she thought. He ordered her favorite drink without questioning her taste, then gently rolled his hands over hers. She smiled her not so innocent smile in return. That moment, while short but by all means satisfying, had been what they longed for. After all these years together, she was still amazed in how well her husband looked in a suit, and he, intoxicated by her beauty, felt fortunate to have the love of such a goddess.

First Friday

March 15, 2013 § 1 Comment

Routine and much awaited, the first Friday of every month is haircut day. I impatiently linger around the office the last quarter-hour of my shift. There was only the mile and a half drive standing between me and the only specialty micro breery type beerfrom the local towns of nowhere familiar to you. One blonde, 8 buffalo wings, sports highlights, another beer, dark this time, and the exchange in knowledge of the art in brewing and then, check please ! Next stop…rats, I can never remember her name. Veronica!  Next stop, Veronica. I must apologize my friends, though I may have had a few beers, I can’t help but chuckle, these few beers have been crafted by the hands possed by the love and talent passed down by our Lord to its maker. The drive is short, one block. I manage well enough. The radius at which the pendulum swings, thy name tag hanging from the automobiles rear view mirror, measures the level of inebriation; 30 degrees we’re still in the clear. Sunset is better in the spring, I feel.  Sunset in summer seems too expected. At this point, there stands only two and half, the half being a child, customers standing between me and Veronica.  Now, the crescendo to my spiritual and physical healing. The call of my name never sounded so revealing. Eyes stared with envy as I began my decent to the original American Dream. This is no longer a trip to minimize my look of inherited  barbarianism but the relishing in the finer and simpler things in life. The empty chair whispered sonnets as I approached. The wave of the plastic cloak covered me as though I were a King. Veronica ran her nails through the  thicket of my hair and began the resurrection. One by one, the excess in hair strands met their demise. Should their be a more magical ending to  such a wonderful day? I believe not. My utopia ended sooner than expected, sorely. I paid the lady her coins for her witchery craft and parted from my indulgence. Peace fell upon this man. I wondered home and relish the day when I again get to experience, the first Friday of every month!


March 12, 2013 § Leave a comment

If you ask him how long he has had those shoes, he would say 38 years. Slumped over and exhausted from his morning chores, he would take to his usual seat on the bench in the corner. His beaten leather shoes creaked as he indulged in his peanut butter sandwich. If you ask him how long he had been sitting on that bench eating peanut butter sandwiches, he would say 38 years.  It was Monday through Friday, 8 am to 5 pm, that he would push his buggy with his mop and bucket and toiletries and paper towels and whatever else that lingered but was never really used. If you ask him how long he and his buggy has marched in tandem, he would say 38 years. Of his many duties that many were known to admire were the finely mopped marble floor, polished brass door knobs and glistening, glass window panes. If you asked him how long he has made that place as magnificent as he does, he would say 38 years. And when the day was done, and his buggy and his assortment of whatever no longer marched together, he would take his usual path through the hills to his apartment for two. If you ask him how long he has trekked that arduous path, he would most indubitably say 38 years. When he would arrive to his sufficient home, his beautiful wife would be waiting with a warm smile and a pot full of stew. If you ask him how long he has gone home to his wife ready with a pot full of stew, he would say 38 years. Together, after they ate their stew and the man had told his wife how much he loved her, they would dance gracefully and humbly in tandem. If you ask him how long he has danced with his wife, taking every stride like a smooth carousel, he would say 38 years. If you ask him how long he has told his wife that he loved her, he would say 38 years. If you ask him how long he kissed her goodnight and prayed every night never to be absent of her side, he would say 38 years.

If you ask him what his name was, he would say with a grin in his best english accent.

“38 Years!”

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