Well it’s only because, as they do, The Mormon Church was damning this professor—and among his family too. They were damning him methodically, and nobody knew. For years, he’d followed their trail of clues which revealed what Mormonism had done to people and their families—the f'ing screws! They've always screwed Mormons they deemed to be "Jack”! Oh well! I mean a sense of justice is what Mormons lack. That’s my alibi for performing tricks while delivering anarchy’s news—the licks.
Be straight with us and don’t tinker, when you say this professor’s information was previously hidden from historians or even one critical thinker. So they didn't know about his sources used to examine Mormonism, its Comprehensive History and Journal of Discourses? You say this chronicled evidence, date of events, took place before and after Joseph Smith’s claim of revelation, possession of an ancient history, all on golden plates. Therefore, according to you, this professor was exposing Joseph Smith Jr. and his crew's historical use of fear, deception, secrecy and murder. You’re saying this professor exposed pathological and criminal behavior of Mormons in general, Brigham Young and Joseph Smith Junior; that members until then couldn't or refused to see and/or remember. And, you believe this intellectual had courage when he spoke about what he’d found in his research and ended up paying a high price for his integrity?
Obviously, these circumstances, or cause you speak of, have produced an affect. And about this neurosis, tell us why you were rejected, changed dress, sought a double-life and became dejected to became the one—Bea Jenowin?
When I look out my window,
Many sights to see.
And when I look in my window,
So many different people to be
That it's strange, so strange.
And what were the Beatle Boots under the dress all about? Oh, I get it! You were the fairy cross-dressed for mercy—right? Then you changed and turned on your psyche, not consciously of course, to pull tricks. It was all about Mr. Blues' sorry f'ing sunshine, I'll bet. Twilight gleaming through the long, kinky hair of a lowlife, maybe? Looking for clarity, a cause to cook, you hit the street soliciting johns and begging for charity. We see here you you no longer fix, but now get up early every morning for your methadone mix.
I had to separate from myself to escape Mormonism's demons. I’d had the most horrible dreams. Being a small boy, I was sent to this vicious, no-account, little, backwater town. While there, I received treatments beneath acidic, yellow light. With everyone taunting and laughing overhead, it was such a horrible sight while being held down so tight. So hey mister, where’s my crowd supposed to troll? God’s already taken his ultimate toll. Now it's my turn to swallow all his comers’ whole. And, when are all these horrible f’ing dreams going to end? Why was I chosen to be the one—my family’s prodigal son? Can’t we all sing like children again?
So Moses wasn't a tag they used for reverence? These Cedar City Cowboys reacted to Moses as a queue for the beatings and humiliation—ripping buttons from your shirt? And they held you down and urinated on your head and face, for their goodness’ sake. For these Mormons, it sounds like it was no big deal. You were the one who chose to appeal! Tell us your story about tracking down Mormons to squirt them, missionaries proselytizing too, with your bottled urine. Skipping up Santa Monica boulevard, in front of their Temple in your Beatle Boots and dress, you stopped at every light; spraying your caustic piss on car windows from your bottle—demanding their cash, on site, no less. Why were you so uptight? You called it The Hollywood Hustle. But what was up with all the excitement, and why were you so giddy? You’d been living in a shelter in Culver City.
The Savage Effect
Paint your mind and run wildly naked
without tights in figure eights.
Come to with bud stuck all
over your forearms
and glycerin based pot jelly smeared
all over and misplaced?
You’ll still be cookin' food too
Look, Mormons were telling me Africans had the curse of Cain, were inferior and were wimps before they were ever born. In previous life they said with scorn! I couldn't imagine why their demons would do this to me at fifteen—how my life was being torn.
So later in your life, how could this institutionalized racism and cover-up of crimes not affect your military career and cause you strife? You worked for a Civil Engineering Squadron? Ah, here it is! Air Force 57150, an airport firefighter in West Germany living your moment of time on America’s dime. Would it be safe for us to assume that working with African Americans, Airman of a different race and creed, was your first taste of Affirmative Action? And everyone depended on each other for their lives? What satisfaction!
Did you hear the one about the ghost, colored honey, with a horn one hundred-ten years before my sanity was torn? Who took the damned loot from um? Paiutes had no use for the money! Why would Mormon faithful stiff Brother Brigham?
I didn't know why these Mormons, in mass, were beating my ass. These fellows were great-great grandsons of participants past, a 1857 massacre at Mountain Meadows. How could molesters so lame, have no damn shame? I hadn't yet seen those dreams: the men, women and small children old enough to talk left to coyotes and crow. For two years, 120 people’s remains were scattered—never buried—about the prairie in the sun, rain, wind, and snow. His ancestors were Puritan, and his roots went to the Malleus Maleficarum—The Hammer for for a Colony in New England—you know, to use as justice for bitches they deemed to be witches.
Was he the one who wore a cowboy hat like the bushwhackers you talked about in 1857 at the site? Was he one of them standing above you in that acidic, yellow light?
He was a Governor and the favorite son of a family Crest's core, reaching back hundreds of years with a Coat of Arms nobody in Cedar City could ignore. Another was the mayor's son. Together they heckled that I was different and an outsider from another state. They were the great-great grandchildren of Dudley Leavitt, Major John Higbee and Isaac Chauncey Haight. I had worn sandals the first day at school—modernity—fresh for them to hate. Moses, Moses, and Moses their goons taunted in sharp staccato spitting it from their throat. But if anyone here really wants to know, it's that life is only sort of like a wheel. The further one changes the easier it is for them to "ho"!