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the dada magazine about nothing

N A D A


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A Recount of the Mountain Meadow Massacre, dictated by Orrin Porter Rockwell transcribed by D.H. Smith on the 28th day of March in the Year of our Lord, 1877

I never shot no one who didn't deserve to be shot. I protect my faith and my family, as the great Prophet Joseph Smith commanded me to do. He came to me in a prophecy, after he left this earth, he came to me on Christmas day, 1843. He told me as long as I remained loyal, I could hear his voice, clear as day say these exact words: As long as I, Porter Rockwell, remained loyal and true to thy faith, thou need fear no enemy. Cut not thy hair and no bullet or blade can harm thee! And that's why my hair's so long. The Danites never attacked no one. The Danites is a brotherhood that carries out God's will, and… vengeance. The Armies of Israel will not allow these Godless dissenters and Missouri heathens to destroy our people! We smite- we shall smite those who deny our saints… the priesthood, those who try to destroy our families, our country… we shall carry out the holy vengeance which awaits those white Indians. Children of Cain. The Danites do nothin' but follow the command of God and the prophet Joseph Smith, and the Priesthood. Will shall take the land that is ours. The-


Ah yes, the incident at Mountain Meadow. It's been a while since, I don't hardly remember it, but the Danites were protecting our people. That was a time when the Saints in Utah were being attacked by all those who denied the teachings. Missouri means trouble. Did then and still do now, it's them political types‌ and the Catholics, thinkin some cabinet of whoever can dictate this land with all their brouhaha, ignoring God's word. They threateneh? What did I see? Well I saw a caravan of godless men, women and child. Looked like they was getting ready to settle. You see, we were being threatened, they were trying to take our land away. Must've been at least 140, 150 of 'em. Now me and John- John D. Lee that is, we was - convicted? yeah, the unlucky son of a bitch. They sent him to the eternal heavenly kingdom early. By firing squad, last Tuesday. Guilty? I know nothing of this Brigham Young ordering Lee or any of us to destroy that caravan, but I know that neither of those men would do nothing against the will of God. If blood atonement is what's needed for the hostility towards the men, women and children of the Latter Day Saints, so be it. None of those men would do nothing else. There was Indians there too. The Indians are the ones who killed those people from Missouri. I saw them with my own two eyes. We was over on this cliff looking at the camp, and they was just on the other side of the brush, close enough that we could yell to each other without strainin' our voices, but we would't make a sound on account of the 40 or so men down there with rifles ready to aim at anyone holding the priesthood. 'Sides, none of use spoke Indian. Lee used this sort of sign language with the Indians. He could keep 'em at bay just by pointin' and gesturin' and moving his face just right to express the tone of what he was saying, ya see? Well anyways, being men of the priesthood we ain't gonna start no trouble with the Indians unless they come at us, and they would, bygommet, if you so much as look at 'em the wrong way. Don't matter if you're Joseph Smith himself, they can't tell the difference between a man holding the priesthood and a raping looting outlaw, you just a white man to them. But this time they didn't want no trouble with us neither, they was looking' as carefully at that camp as the Danites. See I don't shoot at people. If someone needs to be shot, well, they get shot. I fired my rifle, yeah, but only once those bastards opened fire on us. I don't know if I hit nobody, but they was out to destroy us and settle in that spot. They probably supported that blood-thirsty Buchanan and his quest to rid Utah of it's holy priesthood. It's Buchanan and his pack of crooks thinkin' man's law is greater than the Heavenly Father's. They tried to destroy Brigham Young, steal our wives and children and take them into a devil state of sin. I, Porter Rockwell, am an Angel of God. I carry out God's law, and put those Missouri sons of bitches out of their earthly misery. At least in the heavenly kingdom, they have a chance to find God, find paradise, maybe even their wives. Saints or no, they're still fine white men, so long as they ain't murderers. If I get to 'em first, ya see, they can't ruin their chances of going to Heaven. If I see a camp of 140 men, women and children, the children being too young not to be innocent, but the men, the men, bloodthirsty for us holy men, see I can save 'em, you see. And their women. Some women are worth savin', find a good Priesthood holder to take her in, get her sealed to eternal redemption, bring her into the church. But these women were old, and ugly as the dickens. The Danites saw those Missouri wives and no one wanted to try and take them in, have them follow 'em through eternity. The only thing we could do for those women was remove them from this earthly state.


I served as the great Brother Smith's bodyguard, and I still serve Brother Young. When that holy man, your father, Joseph Smith, was brutally murdered in an act so vile, no day in eternity would God allow for atonement, well that day, I took a vow of vengeance, and I joined the holy Army of Israel, the Danites, to do all in my earthly power to protect Utah and the people of Mormon from the godless threats this country is hurling at us. Wha? Yeah, the shootin'. I started shooting only after, but not more than a second after bullets started whizzing in my direction. The Danites are men of God, we don't carry out no massacres. We couldn't let the Missourians continue on their way and cause more fear and destruction to our people, so we held 'em down for a few days. We could see they was too scared to try and leave and too scared too attack. We decided to let their supplies run out and let the Heavenly Father make the ultimate decision. But the Indians, well we could see they was getting thirsty for bloodshed. Savage as they are, see, they're simple. They think their Indian idols and gods are the truth, enough to justify blood atonement. What they don't see, and will never see, is that they ain't giving nothing up, only refusing to allow God's will. They know deep down they can't get into the Heavenly Kingdom, being savages and all, that explains their actions. That's why they found those 140 people in their shallow grave. Soon as we saw the Missourians were out of water, we started wonderin what to do. It was Lee who went to the Indians. He told me to watch over the Danites while he went to find out the Indians' plan. He was gone for over a day. Did Brigham Young send a messenger to Lee at that time? Maybe. I heard nothin myself though. Young had his hands full. The federal government trying to throw him out of office, prying into his family life to take away his wives from their rightful Priesthood holder. But I don't know nothing about Brother Young meddlin' in this matter. He has to lead our people by delivering the voice of God, of the prophet Joseph Smith, and he has to protect our land in his own way. All's a know is Lee was over there talkin' to those Indians. Trying to reason with them, though it's always hard to tell through that Indian tongue of theirs if they understand. Soon enough I start seeing the Indians narrowing in on the camp, axes and arrows in hand, some even had rifles. Our holy pack of Mormon men weren't about to get in the middle of nothing, but once we saw Lee amongst them, I ordered the men to follow me to meet up with the savages and Lee. Now we knew the kind of bloodshed them Indians were looking for. We knew if we's going to protect our people and stop those Missourians, we had to get justice our own way. It was only once we saw them Indians going in to attack did we decide we needed to carry out the blood atonement, the holy vengeance. I heard God himself come to all of us, like a big voice in the sky. He said to us that Joseph Smith was there right beside him, watching over us. He said it was time for a holy war. We had to make the land right with God for the people of Mormon, for Brigham Young, for Joseph Smith.


So yeah, we put that cross over those bodies, so the ones worthy enough could choose to listen to the word of God and Joseph Smith and the Prophet Moroni, and join our Heavenly Kingdom. We spared those children too young to be evil, brought 'em back to our wives to be raised and sealed in the Mormon faith, learning the words of Joseph Smith. The Indians, they commit murder, sins which cannot be atoned for, and we did what we had to do. The Danites made it so those 100 or whatever it was souls could be sent to the Heavenly Kingdom. We did what was right, to atone for the brutal murder of the prophet Joseph Smith in the hands of those men and women who reject his teachings. No state law can surpass the laws of God in the Eternal Kingdom. It is He who dictates the Army of Israel, He who tells us to shed blood, to seek vengeance, to follow the words of the holy Joseph Smith and our leader Brigham Young, and that's all there is.


I am normal.

Adjusting suit buttons, Joseph Smith is feeling sexual, ready to freak up on OK Cupid Across the table, his internet virgin sips heavier beer, than expected, calculating. “An angel gifted you plates of religion?” Well, yes. He oozes, A full set mid-translation. Tossing head back she licks beer-foam teeth, as he narrates wall weights of temples, emphasizing perseverance. The waiter delivers the check, in a gold wallet and Mr Smith winks, offering a lifelong threesome.

With weeks unrolling like carpets, flying beneath my untrusty weight, I’ll survey the land, My kitchen counters, the bedroom, dust clouds hugging chair arms, sweep it up, sterilize. Fold and keep at arm’s length. My daughters watch, as I deliver pearl casseroles, fresh-plated hand folds, lying sidelong from sober sex. My husband drapes the house, his spiritualized shadows cloak stability, in bold-lined figures of Right. While I fly frantic, scavenging bones for my slice of immortality.


It's just a macombe desert Jess, that’s all. Turning toward her ( and still keeping both hands on the wheel (Thank you!) looking over her profile - perfection- among the tangled limbs of the seldom tree, so strange I thought, these trees, looking as whole bodies where sawed up and then sewn or compacted together by a brute, terrible force. I caught Jess's eye, and she caught mine, the fear I mean, because she turned white as a sheet ( which is a singular act in 120 degree heat for such a pale girl). I don't know why you’re being like this, it’s not like these people haven't seen a white person before. I blink, four flys carreen into the window. I touch the deepest silkest fattest part of Jess's thigh ( she's wearing shorts); we blush. Sorry, I sigh. Deserts always seemed holy to me. I grew up among the canyons that sprouted like antennas toward God, doting the sand and clay of Utah, filling it with the promise of Jesus. Deserts (I once naively believed) was where one came to find love. I looked to Jess, my new bride, and to the sky, which looked pitch black around the edges - as if there was the airless blue of Africa's placid skys and then, underneath there was night: An endless night hidden under purity. You’re the one who said we should do God's work for our honey-moon. Remember Steven- green eyes glareing at me, I’m not looking but I can feel them, their heat, thier essence ( if you beg the pronouncement).Yes Jess, I remember. It all started with Hawaii, I knew I would be tempted, by the bodies, the blue, the brown and bronzed smooth skin on the beach. breasts, I began to have nightmares of mountains of breasts gunning toward Jess and I ( she dressed in white). We run, of course, like the Devil’s at our heels. Jess falls, either someone or something trips her, or she falls by her own feet - falling in a jumbled fear. I fail to notice, distracted as I am. The breast pile on her, she screams and I turn around to the mountain ( or tower, or mass amorphous blob- like in an eighties thriller) heaving. It’s eating Jess rings around my skull as I shoot up from bed, night after night. So instead of Hawaii, instead of Brazil, Jamaica, or the Virgin Islands, we are here, in Sub Saharan Africa. To a desert thats patched together by hearts and bones, to a nest of AIDS ridden children dancing to sounds of war and torn guts under the listless sun, spitting blood.


Do you see what I mean? Are you starting to get the point? We were on the cusp of beginning life, of shedding the husk, we carried before the covenant. Now it was as if we had passed to a place of Anti-life ( if that means anything). A place where there is no concept of death because even the children are marked. I talked to Nabo, everything is set up for us. How the hell did you talk to Nabo, I laugh. Seriously Steven you’re being absurd, with a cell phone of course. You imagine Africa as sad desolate huts, because, well, that is what Africa is, a submerged sage brush suburb ( rows of shit and straw domes, a ring of blue or green or yellow or red or black wrapping around them, the only thing that signifies their speciality- it occurs to me, in a grim moment of carelessness, that not even God could deem them holy. souless). An army of spotless, jagged teeth and peeled black aprons of lips stand at attention. ( where or even how do you find parking in these types of situations?) Jess steps out of the car, carrying with her ( like a bird or an amulet) her empherial grace, as she strides through the children clammering to touch her hands or her thigh. I have a brief passing of jealously- it must be the heat!. I begin to relax, when ( I can only discern from the way that they eye each other) Nabo parts the children like the red sea and gives Jess a simple kiss on the forehead- planted with the innocence of an adopted child toward their new familyflushed with a dumb kindness and interia. They slaughter a cow in our honor. The meat is chewy and vaguely undercooked. Jess leads us in prayer; she speaks of the lost tribes of America- cursed for running from the arms of fate, she speaks of Africa, such a place of light, constantly shielding her children from the rays with the heavy arms of a savage innocence. They look enthralled, entranced, in the glowing warmth of God's ecstasy, as they pour their hearts over the words, choking on the stone tucked in each and breaking their teeth against the tide ( GOD GLORY BE) Amen. Nabo pulls out his cell phone. Enlongated vowels and howls clicks. Two trucks pull up, their beds filled with women yielding machetes. Theirs breasts are huge and they, unclothed. The children overpower Jess, beating her with fists and rocks- the women shove their machetes in my face, they cut off my fingers- Nabo begins sawing off Jess's right arm, laughing hysterically. The women hold me down and rub their breasts over my face, they tear off my pants fondling my balls while gently taking the tip of my cock in their mouth, tongueing it. The children are hacking Jess alive. As she utters her last word ( GOD) I cum.


I was born into a cult. Not the type of cult where they sacrifice goats or burn black people hanging from trees. But a cult none the less. Maybe it’s more of a mass hypnosis, but let’s just call it a cult, for more realistic purposes. I was born in salty lake right into the thick of it. There was no hope for me. I was born weird. I lied to my parents my entire life. They don't know who I am or what I believe in. As far as I'm concerned once I moved out they considered me dead. I went through all of the ritualistic loopholes with my eyes closed and my mouth sewn shut. You are not born into the life you need, but the scissors can free you from the family ties, religious dogmas and social constraints. But before all that happened I went door to door with my suite and tie, handing pamplets, and giving the spiel. I am not going to lie, we typically were loaded on valium or ketamine and didn't remember much of it. We may have just been to strip clubs tipping them with mormon propaganda, but I'm not sure. Most of that portion of my life is very blurry or completely erased. After my parents were satisfied with my commitment to the cult I dissappeared. I smashed my cell phone and clipped my credit cards, hopped on the freight. I got kicked off a quarter mile down the tracks and got brutally assaulted by the railway worker. Draggin my self bloodied into town I ran into some Mormons who were talking right minds but then I recited a few hymns of scripture backwards and they began to believe me. They said I could ride all the way there with them for free as long as I promised to sraighten out my laces and become a good samaritan of Joseph Smith Junior. I agreed and came along for the ride, At the time I still looked some-what respectable, I had my church and service wardrobe campaigning clothes. But my hair smelled like whiskey and my teeth were stained from coffee and cigarettes. Mortal sins in the eyes of Joseph Smith Junior. I hid my ugly reality long enough to ride with them to Portland. We attened mass and I slept with my eyes open and just heard the monotone hum of the death of brains cells.


When I got into Portland, I ditched the congregation and headed to the nearest liqour store. I weighted 160 pounds when I arrived, and lost all recollection. The streets are depraved, junkies praying chaplets and then collecting sandwiches to sell for more junk. Lying on the Brooklyn Bridge till day break sleeping on piles of Holy Bibles. Waitng for the light of God to camouflage their skin somewhere closer to straight-laced society. I didn't want to be a Mormon, I drank a liter of whiskey a day for a month, and weighted myself. I ate a half meal each day and weighted myself at the end of the month at my neighbors house every vital organ in my body, my pores pleaded for the holy spirit. I gained twenty pounds of selfish beer thievery. My belly was rock solid my chest was barrelled out, but it was not from muscle or bulk it was just sheer devils child play bouncing around against my outskin. One day I woke up in the most unlikey place. The place I thought I would wake up in was hell. I woke up on the steps of a church. A bus drove by and it said "I Am A Mormon". And as it drove past full of drunks, vagrants and even fucking doctors. I thought this sign is telling me that this diesel wreckingball. Maybe I shouldn't give up on religion, but just start my own Scientology. Maybe I shouldn't give up on religion, but just start my own maybe in a few years we can make something work out.


america i feel weird i feel not good i keep getting my fingers stuck in cake or what sorry if i just knuckled my whatever into your ribs. i am busy i am getting defibrillated i am getting a hug i want to party i want stop it america goddamn christ sailed to america in a tea0cup-shaped vessel did you know this he sailed here and he landed in utah and they buried his words in the utah lake, they built a city around it called salt lake city but the main thing is that He sailed here in a teacup because a TEACUP CANNOT CAPSIZE THIS IS PHYSICS DO YOU UNDERSTAND. i was raised to fear the asians from the footage of riots when black people robbed the convenience stores during the riots and asian people shot them from the roof with fucking RIFLES and there was FIRES do you think i am a horrible person do you think christ will smite me do you think christ will smite me a second time FUCK YOU INDDEED I LOVE BEING SMOTE I FUCIGNG LOVEEE IT. do you love me america will you stay here with me and touch my hand sometimes do you think you could love me if whatWHT what what do i have to do i feel so FURUSTERATED i want to fuck allllllllthese men america all these men with their tongues lolling around in the red poking their own eyes out and smoking dope on fixed gear bikes using toothpaste talking about grilled cheese sandwiches and dubstep and cross trainers and netflix and sweaters and rockclimbing and muesli and msucial theater i want all these men with fists stuck on the sidewalk naked in the morning screaming DO YOU LIEK THIS FISH I CAUGHT THIS FICH WITH MY FUCKING TEEEHT O FATHER christ sucks wet blood from beneath your fingernails christ makes you eat penaut butter whennnyou don't want peanut butter he scales the facade of the notre dame de paris he scales the brandenbuRrg gate he scales the column of trajan he slings a satchel of human flesh over his shoulder he nails human stomach viscera to the walls of your bedroom like tibetan prayer flags he drivees a kia spectrum he uses every photobooth option simultaneously he wins a year of free lunches at any hard rock cafe around the world he vomits in direct sunlight. thes e men want to fuck you in the ass while you sleep they want to rip open the scabs on your neekcap so NO THANKS AMERICA I DON"T WANT IT DON"T THINK SO THANKS I DONT WANT YOUR LOVE OR YOUR TIME I DONT WANT ANY OF YOUR THINGS OR YOUR EYES I DON'T WANT YOUR HANDS OR YOUR HU7FGS OR YOUR THUNB IN MY CUNT NO THANKS I WANT TO STAY HERE AND FEEL STUPID ALL NIGHT BECAUSE THIS IS FUCKING STUPID AND I WANT TO SIT HERE IN THE DAERRKK WITH NO SOXKS AND I;M GOING TO SIT HERE UNTIL I GET TIRED OF DOING THAT BECAUSE WHATEVER BEAYSE WHATFUCINGEEFTRT!!!!!! AND EWHE N CHRIST COMES AND THE MEN COME TO FUCK ME I[KK ISAY HERE I AM!!!!!!!! HERE I AM!!!!!!! COME GET ME IN YOU R FUCKING TACUP TAKE MWEEE WITH YOU I AM SITTY ING HERE STLL IN THE ROOMS OF AMERICA BECUASE THIS IW WHAT I DO NOW THIS IS ITTHIWAISTI IITTT.TTTT.


The steel toe boots the door open, yelping like a tiny dog. He takes a step outside the shelter, a home among forest homes in the mountains hugging Provo. Reborn on weekend trips to the lake, dipping his flesh in the springs, the heat of the world bubbling up toes and legs, his feet carressed now by the mash potato mud, with chunks here and there of dead things holding firm the soil. The fires have settled to embers, working slowly away at the roots of ahsen trees. Smoke lingers on the tips of his nose hairs, having a hint of burnt flesh and forest and certain other chemicals, even a few smells he can't quite put his finger on, as he picks the boogers and flicks them. Next to his foot prints were those of four toed creatures. By the looks some were bi-pedal, some prints seemed to dance with the trees, limboing under limbs. Others hopped and others slithered, others with sunken prints carried trails of pitch forks and axes, two-by-fours with a single heavy metal nail placed at the edge. It was Christ's favorite weapon. Looking from the ridge,


the city at s i e g e scaffolds b u i l t and walls b r e a c h e d swarms of aphid-men nibble on the t i p s of fingers devouring the phalanx of c i v i l d e f e n s e warning bells still resonate with the fading s c r e a m s now turned to c r i e s now to whimp e r s now drops of t e a r s that once filled the great mountain ocean rodent warriors in s t e e r skull helmets a n d shoulder-

blade shields pierce and r e p i e r c e the ears and b u s s o m s of fine women h o t red hot still f r e s h from the forges of S a t a n ' s stalactite t o w e r push up from e a r t h ' s f a u l t s jamming forks c h o k e the live p l u n d e r with joyful l a u g h s thighs piled h i g h on pewter s k e w e r s eaten in one bite and a perfect s n a c k during games of chess on drawn boards across the naked landscape

of silent men they used t e e t h for pawns and gold banded ring fingers as k i n g s middle fingers as q u e e n s old hell h o u n d s shaved and c a l o u s e d with a blood s t r i p e high and tight to the m a r c h i n g s n a r e s t a n d a r d i s s u e versatile the size of large rats lick and gnaw t e n d e r blue lips of the many w i v e s stretching finger to finger tip with sisters and children with brothers

cold hares in winter coats send chills across the leftover lake so yellow m o n k e y s m a y ice skate in vacant rib c a g e s p l a y i n g rhythms duri n g games of c h i c k e n minor hawks peck on the n e c k s of the single m e n ravens will fly out the black anal c r e v i c e s of the truly guilty ones s p e w i n g semen on weather proof f e a t h e r s the black birds shit grey on eyes of those to be beheaded

with the thud of human temples on earth, Daniel vomits. He turns his back on the scene. vomits again. Prays. And by some miracle he is lifted by an eagle, pristine brown and white feathers that hum in tune with the wind, up through the clouds, up through the icicle high notes, to where the sun always shines, its rays our first food, its warmth our basic love, then Daniel is dropped back into the lake, divebomb style, screaming like a stuka.


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whose only thought is to protect the country and do good service for the sovereign, is the jewel of the kingdom.


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gro.nomroM//:ptth

Š 2012 draoB lairotidE adaN 5# 1SN devreseR sthgiR llA

Nada1 05 http://Mormon.org  

to follow the words of the holy Joseph Smith and our leader Brigham Young, and that's all there is.

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