Thursday, May 21, 2015

Cannes 2015 - Florence

Florence, Italy, a flood of emotions overtook me like a train wreck when I drove into the birthplace of the Renaissance. How could I enjoy this lively artistic Tuscany region with my limited knowledge. I couldn't. I had to educate myself on the life and times of this fabulous city. At least I thought I had to, but yet I had already delved into its architecture, people and artistic accomplishments.

While living in Florence with the Tuscan citizens, eating and drinking and playing beside them, I'd decided to write my new novel "Vitruvian Man", a novel of great portions, a story as the measure of all things.

One of its most iconic sites is the Florence Cathedral, with its terra-cotta-tiled dome engineered by Brunelleschi and bell tower designed by Giotto. The Galleria dell'Accademia displays Michelangelo’s “David,” while the Uffizi Gallery exhibits preeminent works such as Botticelli’s “The Birth of Venus” and da Vinci’s “Annunciation.”
Did I mention Michelangelo? Yes I did. Did I mention Michelangelo's artistic endeavors? No I didn't
Florence has been called "The Athens of the Middle Ages", with a turbulent political history that includes periods of rule by the powerful Medici family, and numerous religious and republican revolutions.
Because of this spectacular city, and Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, the excellent historical sculptor, painter, architect, poet, and engineer, and Leonardo da Vinci the other excellent historical painter, sculptor, architect, musician, mathematician, engineer, inventor, anatomist, artist, geologist, cartographer, botanist, and writer, I chose to center of my new novel titled "Vitruvian Man", with these two geniuses.
After all, Leonardo da Vinci's artistic depiction of Vitruvian Man; the measure of all things,  demonstrates the blend of art and science during the Renaissance and provides the perfect example of Leonardo's deep understanding of proportion.
Michelangelo is considered the greatest living artist in his lifetime, and he has since been held as one of the greatest artists of all time in painting, sculpture, and architecture, and that is why I chose him as my jewelry designer and artisan of feature gold, diamonds and emerald, for the background of "Vitruvian Man".
Clink on the link and look inside my novel "Vitruvian Man", it follows Alexander Crown's unique existence as he represents the measure of all things.

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Cannes 2015 - Wannabes - Fantasies


Alexander Crown Trilogy.

The secret to a healthy, moral life is fitness, emotional and physical. That's what I'm profess. Drink heavily, smoke now and then, eat heartedly, and let people think they're using me.

Cannes Film Festival, what a joke! The movie industry people well dresses, accolade themselves, promote themselves and their projects, hoping to instill interest and get millions of cash to boost their egos their wallets and purchase fantastic villas, so they can buy more drugs and alcohol and become more creepy and dysfunctional.

Promoters, actors, producers, directors, some are millionaires, most are wannabes, but the big money moguls control all of it. My question is, what do they do for us, the public. Do they transform billions of dollars creating platforms for peace around the world, help starving people, help home the homeless, protect the environment, protect cyber hacking, provide and protect our children? Those are equal last things on their bucket lists, perchance they even have a bucket list. And all for what, to sell a ten dollar ticket to their movie.

I'd taken this necklace from the festival because their was so much money there, thinking I could sell the necklace, and use the cash to help finance my children's orphanage in Cape Town, South Africa. That was a joke too. After having the necklace examined and evaluated, and discovering it's age and design, I couldn't sell it. The necklace was priceless because of who designed and crafted it, so to this day I use it to tease prospective buyers, steal their money, and then filter it through channels to my orphanage. We all benefit, yes? Join me in my hunt for new buyer prospects, to help protect the innocent and feed lost children. You'll be entertained, possibly jump up and down and holler for the good guys.

I'm Alexander Crown the "Vitruvian Man", the one who created Regeneration.

Cannes 2015 - Diamonds - Emeralds

Alexander Crown Trilogy

The entire view was synthetic, like trying to eat a piece of plastic, radiating sensational vibes that couldn't stop this slick environment. But was the view synthetic? No! The view was natural; diamonds and emeralds set into an exquisite setting of gold and silver and don't forget the platinum sidebar on the entire necklace that was designed and made by Michelangelo over 500 years ago.

I possessed it but it wasn't mine, it belonged to the Italian Historical Society that I had given the necklace to. They tried to bury it, hide it beneath a mountain of paperwork and prejudice and politics, so I took it back, stole it right from under their crazy eyes without them realizing it. Did they know that I had taken it back? I didn't give a fuck whether they did or not. I needed the gorgeous, priceless necklace to produce monetary results.

This meeting I arranged was a fistful of rumors, whispers and myths, but my intel gathering moved with purpose, proving that with purpose and lots of ambition and energy I did convince the new group of jewelry buyers that Michelangelo's necklace was priceless, that it is for sale by me, but not revealing my real purpose for shoving it into the hands of creepy power money mongers.

I'm in Cannes, France, during the Cannes Film Festival where drugs, drinks and dimwits converge, corrupting and smothering all competition. But that is another story for some other time.

With clean movement of my muscles and the warmth of my legs I savored the passing moments waiting at the sidewalk café in Cannes, France. Busy street, busy café, busy walkways, full restaurants and tourists galore filled this small seaside resort, home of the Cannes Film Festival, and the Festival is about to begin, a place I'd rather not be, the place where I had originally stolen the necklace from a security guard at the Film Festival three years ago. I now convince buyers it's for sale, don't give them the merchandise but take their money anyway, by force most times, and then give the cash to support my orphanage in Cape Town, South Africa. That's what living is all about, sharing and giving, as well as taking away from those who can afford it.

The group of two brown suited bald men and one underdeveloped woman in a short white dress, Nike running shoes, big red hair and strong hands with which one carried a small paper bag, were walking toward my table. The bag was my rule of carrying the cash they would give me. I rolled my shoulders, shucked my gloves and dropped them on the table beside the black felt bag that contained the necklace. I pushed myself straight up and stood to greet my buyers.

They stopped at my table but were unable to surround it due to the wall behind me. The smaller man drew his hand across the table to shake my hand. His senses were sharp, his breath came easy. I felt power in his handshake like I was shackled in irons. He was free and alive much like me but I was more alive.

Three Berettas were drawn from some unknown place and targeted me, one in each of their hands. The one who shook my hand was left handed and that was a huge mistake, I saw his gun traversing from his backside  as we shook hands. He made a little squeak when I ripped his Beretta from his palm. The other man and woman where like dead trees with week branches ready to break. They dropped their guns on the ground when I pointed my newly acquired gun at them.

I snatched the paper bag from the woman's hand and peeked inside it. Fresh American bills in twenties totaling ten thousand dollars. The woman's face dropped like a dead week. The two men were as still as crickets. Of course my escape depended on the large crowds meandering about, the auto traffic down the road, nearby alleyways, high rise buildings and Cannes, the most advertised city aside from Paris and New York as the city to visit.

I held the gun low and in two hands, my finger resting gently on the trigger. It felt good. The gun was molded for my hands. I started breathing heavily thinking I was preparing myself to run, but I felt a little dizzy. With their eyes locked on mine without trying to overtake me I realized what had happened. The little man's handshake stung like I was stuck with a pin. I was stuck with a pin that carried something either lethal or paralyzing so I needed to work fast. But perhaps working fast made the shot work faster. I didn't care.

Stepping forward like I was working in slow motion I slammed the Beretta upside the left handed guy's head. He fell like a sack of onions. The café crowd went berserk, jumping from their seats, screaming and scrambling and bumping into the other man and woman confronting me. I hands were show but I slammed the gun into the woman's head and followed through by slamming it to the second man's head. They slumped on top of each other at my feet. Stepping over them was a struggle among people scattering like cattle in a stampede.

Staggering and then tripping I maintained an upright position as I drifted down the street holding my gloves, the berretta and the paper bag containing the ten thousand dollars. Wouldn't want to forget any of those items.

Are you in need of reading more of Alexander Crown's adventures? Click on the link and preview the Alexander Crown Trilogy.

Sunday, May 17, 2015

Cannes - Actors- Movies - Drugs - Sex

Alexander Crown Trilogy

This was not something I wanted to do, sitting on the front steps of a Cannes hotel in Cannes, France, with hundreds of obsessed actors, crazy directors, money mongers, and young women so obnoxious about their skinny, toneless bodies, idiotic dress designers and makeup entourages, I just wanted to kill myself over their stupid obsessions and uncertain futures, but why should I, they are the crazy people who idolize worthless values. It's all forms of  worshiping false gods and unworthy events spending obnoxious amounts of money on clothing, drinks, drugs and sex. One thing I didn't mind was listening to the B.B. King song Riding with the King splashing the air on exterior speakers above the front steps.

My contact from Kuwait was sitting beside me, a man uncommon and deliriously crazed to socialize with celebrities that he was in his element sitting on the steps beside me wearing jeans, brown Finley's, blue sweatshirt, big shades, shaven head and a tan so deep he would blend with a cup of hot chocolate.

Certain things compel people though. Diamonds for example. They are only pieces of carbon compressed in the bowels of the earth for eons and driven to the surface in a volcanic pipe. someone mines them, someone facets them, someone polishes them. Can diamonds harbor a curse? No more than a mirror can! Or even a life! There is only chance that diamonds are curses, especially diamonds that Michelangelo faceted  and polished and place them in a setting. Anyway, they are nothing more than pieces of glass, human diversion telling they are valuable.

The urge to put something in your pocket, something so small and beautiful as diamonds can make you feel so beautiful and valuable like my contact feels about himself, and you hate to sell the diamonds or give them away, especially when the diamonds were cut and assembled in a necklace by Michelangelo over 500 years ago. It's value is really inestimable, their worth as an emotional conduit as to what the earth is made of. Only the strongest people can turn away from feelings like that, and I'm a strong person but I don't want to turn away from them or give them away or sell them. But you know, diamonds are just stones and dust is just dust, and misfortune is just bad luck. Bad luck was on a tightrope at this moment.

You see, diamonds are pieces of light from the ages of earth. Owing one is like saying you own the universe. Possessing one, and even a dozen or two like the ones in Michelangelo's necklace, as well as a few emeralds highlighting the diamonds is like feeling the earth is weighing on you shoulders like its weighing on mine, but I think it's worth it.

"I have your ten thousand American dollars in this small bag, Mr. Crown. Now give me my new diamond necklace," my contact said while ogling unknown pretty celebrities in tight colorful short skirts and tight tiny tops.

His diamond necklace, could you imagine him telling me that? The fool! I took the bag from his hand and poked him in the eye with my thumb, just hard enough to make him grab his face and fall back on the step behind us.

"I have Michelangelo's necklace here in my pocket," I said, "and it's not yours.

He kicked at me and missed. I stood and put the heel of my boot on his neck and drove it deep. He grab bed my shin and tried to push it away. He couldn't and groaned like the pig that he is, and wiggled his short legs and stomped his feet.

The crowd surrounding us pushed and yelled but didn't touch me. I picked up the little pudgy guy by his sweatshirt hoodie and shoved him down the steps. He stumbled against people and tripped, falling another six steps to the sidewalk. His head smashed against the cement, two men kneeled beside him, inspected the bleeding injury on his forehead.

I jumped down the steps, angled between tens of dozens of tourists and festival quests and disappeared down the street, walking around cars, motorcycles and in between a couple of crowds of people that didn't know where they were in the world. Lucky I knew where I was while I carried the paper bag with ten thousand dollars in it. I hopped on my lucky crotch rocket Ninja Kawasaki, started it, stuffed the bag inside my cotton jacket and rocketed down the highway without a worry in the world.

Alexander Crown Trilogy.

Monday, May 11, 2015

Bedroom Eyes - Killer Eyes

My belt was a classic black Levi, silver one prong buckle, waist 34", soft cowhide. I slowly unbuckled it and pulled it from the loops on my well used Levi jeans. I usually wear Levi's, soft brown leather boots, a blue t-shirt and dark brown leather jacket. You know, one of those soft lambskin zipper front jackets with a Nehru collar? Yeah, it's so comfortable. Oh, and by the way I don't usually carry a weapon.
The assassin's eyes followed each of my fingers as I slipped my belt from the loops. I'm sure he wanted to break all my fingers if not one at once then all at the same time. Some assassins like to torture their victims before they kill them, and other assassins want to kill immediately. This assassin wanted an immediate kill.
We are at St. Ives, a coffee shop on Victoire Boulevard in Paris, a splendid sandwich and coffee shop. The tiny eatery seats 45 customers either sitting on counter stools or standing, and this morning twelve customers were sitting and drinking and conversing while watching streaming Internet deals on their iPads and phones, except for one adorable female. She sits tall  on a stood, legs spread, white jacket with shapely calves highlighted with black heels, her fabulous twinkling bedroom eyes glued to mine, or are they killer eyes?
I liked to drink my deep roast coffee black while standing and that's what I was doing making eye contact with a potential that potential sexual partner, when this fucker came up behind me and pulled a fillet knife. I caught the glint of silver in a sliver of streaming sunlight through the front window.
If he wasn't going to slice me like a fish he should neither have jerked the knife at my neck nor pulled the handgun from underneath his jacket to shoot me like a hoodlum. Sitting on the floor below me after I had kicked his left knee hyperextending it, and consequently stomping on it and breaking it, he'd have been a happy camper with me dead on the floor at his feet, examining my priceless Michelangelo diamond and emerald necklace between his fingers, the exquisite necklace Michelangelo had designed and made. This fucker would have snatched the jewels from underneath my leather jacket pocket.
But now he's cradling his leg and whimpering like a baby. The gal on the stool didn't flinch or scream, of just off her stool, she watched with that unnerving twinkle in her eyes.
Being on the run from big money execs and government officials on the take isn't a fun profession, but I'm not on the run, I'm not afraid and I rather enjoy being in control taking out the best of the best assassins, not actually killing them but incapacitating them for pretty much of the rest of their lives. Most of them know the consequences of losing a fight but don't consider losing since they believe they're the best at what they do. I don't lecture them or lecture anybody else, but situations aren't always in one's favor and you have to be prepared for that special time.
As all the customers in St. Ives watch me as I wrap my Levi belt around this stupid guys neck. They cringe and whistle, a couple applaud and one or two stand to get a better look. The three employees lean against the other side of the main counter and stretch their necks across it to watch the proceedings.
It's not that I'm going to kill the fucker, after all he is the son of somebody, he possibly even has a brother or sister. Maybe he has a wife and child. Perhaps he's a university graduate, or a high-tech entrepreneur trying to make a fast buck by killing me. Whatever he is, I'm not going to end his miserable life, I'll just teach him a lesson or two.
He grabs my belt as I tighten it around his jugular. He pulls against the soft belt trying to loosening the choking leather. I tighten it by twisting it and pulling it up and watch his face turn pink and his fingers whiten underneath the strong leather. He face turns reddish then slightly purple, I release my belt and he falls back smashing his head on the tile floor. With a broken knee and now unconscious, all the customers silently watch me as I unstrap my belt, loop it through my Levi's and buckle it.
Sirens screech in the background and it's time for me to leave with my Michelangelo necklace secured inside the black felt bag that's inside my jacket pocket. Out the front door carrying my black coffee, standing on the sidewalk in front of St. Ives, the pale glow of the morning, such a natural packaged charm, lit some mischief I had on my mind when that young seductive woman who was sitting at the counter took my arm in hers and smiled.
The fug of auto traffic and pedestrians is an excitement I couldn't ignore. This day is going to be wonderful. I gently smiled back at the woman, and we walked up the block. Would I get laid today by a fragile but not helpless straw blonde with a long neck and bedroom eyes? Take a guess.

Thursday, May 7, 2015

Insight & Sex

From hunted to hunter, time squeezes as if nothing has changed, but time changes everything.

You may be tough, have thoughtful isights, want to show off. You've changed from being hunted to hunter.

Childhood dreams die, but the things we do for love feel real from afar and close by, and all of it pertains to life lived that constantly changes.

You are the hunter and the hunted.

You have changed. The life you've lived was real even if your memory is fading. Time passes. Love passes. Life passes. Seasons change but the moon and stars and the earth remain. You were and you are here now, Prettyboy: Fabulous Fifties Hollywood.

Prettyboy: Fabulous Fifties Hollywood.

Thursday, April 30, 2015

Diamonds and Death

She tried to back away from me, but I tightly restrained her, the point of her trusty three inch Swiss blade on her throat. If the brunette wasn't wearing three inch orange stilettos to match her tank-top, the kind wife beaters wear, which she was naked and undernourished underneath, or her tight black Bermuda pants, I would say she is less an assassin and more of a negotiator, perhaps even a sexual solicitor but contrarily she's an assassin.

Today at this sidewalk café in Amsterdam she is both an assassin and negotiator. How could I just hand over my priceless Michelangelo necklace that was designed and crafted by that great painter and sculptor over five hundred years ago? I couldn't. But that's what she demanded from me. I told her the price is one hundred thousand Euros. She laughed in my face while we sat at a small round table on the sidewalk drinking cups of espresso. Perhaps the caffeine spiked her nerves or she has PMS, whatever her problem is, whoever she works for, I ignored her demand to hand over the necklace free of charge.

I stood up from my hard wooden chair. She jumped out of hers and charged me with her knife. I slipped around behind her, snatched the small knife from her fingers, twisted one arm behind her and stuck the knife on her neck, drawing a few teardrops of blood from her skin. They blood rolled down her neck onto her chest and stained the edges of her orange tank-top.

She wrestled, I held tight, she wiggled and I strengthened my hold. The tip of the knife went a quarter inch into her neck. She relaxed but I held tight.

"This necklace is priceless," I said. "Did you believe that I would hand it over to you or even accept the one hundred thousand Euros I had asked for? You're boss is an idiot, young lady, and so are you for attacking me."

"Fuck you, Mr. know it all Alexander Crown." Her accent was delicious, something between Russian and Greek. "

She struggled with me again and I heard a pop, the register of a pistol, and then heard a thud as the bullet enter the my assailant's chest. Life was leaving her body as I supported it against mine as a shield from the onslaught of bullets. All Customers jumped off their chairs which shielded me more. the shooting stopped, I dropped the body across the table and hightailed my ass down the block headed for my rental car two blocks away.

Diamonds and death follow me everywhere I go. While I was running to save my own hide I thought about all the women I had sex with in college, in Africa, in the United States, in Croatia and a few other countries, and the ache I felt in my groin wasn't from guilt it was mostly from loneliness. I'd have to go visit Ms. Borghini in Lucerne, Switzerland, my ex-girlfriend.

Thank you for reading. This link will take you to "Vitruvian Man" where Alexander Crown discovers Michelangelo's necklace.