II
But whether “Geronimo” had read it and made it part of his soul, that is another question.
Priding himself as a Bedouin warrior living out his doomed martyrdom. he reminds us of an unsolicited encounter on the sands between Beersheba and Ashkelon five decades ago when he
began his “Geronimo” odyssey .
What comes to mind “The last of the Mohigans” the Apache like Indians responding to casting calls . The grm weather beaten faces, the scare crows around their eyes.
III
Not unlike an Art Aragon battler coming from the barrio into Van Nuys, California Khadafi longed for his power structure. .But not from central casting.... ”that’s for sure, Geronimo”
IV
In amassing it, he acquired his voluptuous secretary and a harem of sultry Maria Montez’s willing to act out the despot’s megalomania delusions and paranoia..
He’s reached his point of no return. No “Geronimo” here, challenging the repressed embedded rage as the scenario plays out the crushing “Last days of Pompei”
One city fallen to his defectors... Tripoli, the capitol next, as the sweeping humanity is heard on line thru “lovelorn” camouflage..
“We no longer want your cake”,Gerinmo”.Nor your bread, ladies!.”
V
The discombobulating “I will fight to my last ounce of blood” cried the despot, recognizing his desperation..., the “Duke” in a careening PT boat...out of Malta.... to the “Shores of Tripoli”
Waiting at the ferry, February 24, 2011
