I turned around and saw the mighty Rockies Mountains rise up as granite giants from the earth. I gasped. At the same time an Asian nurse in the hospital in Salt Lake City grabbed the hand of Jeffrey Lee, who was slipping into a coma. –– I’m here, she whispered. –– Thank God, thought Jeffrey Lee. The Rocky Mountains I was looking at must be at least 400 meters high. But you could hardly call them mountains. They were more like a humongous wall, a wall of granite, a wall that closed off the state of Utah from the rest of civilization. Of course, the Mormons who founded this state had originally conceived it this way. They wanted nothing more to do with the Puritan America of the 19th century. In this wasteland, sandwiched between the Rockies and the Great Salt Lake, they found the space to elevate their insanity to reality. All their piety stemmed from lewdness. To put it bluntly: they were very horny old men who couldn’t control themselves no longer. They practiced polygamy in a fashion that all too often resulted in heavily pregnant girls of barely 14 years old. Some of them were their own grandchildren. From all that sinful black arose the pious white that exemplifies the Mormons nowadays. Like a bright shiny day doesn’t mean a thing if there first hasn’t been a deep dark and troubled night. Jeffrey Lee’s hair was also white. Albino white. It was already so in the late 1970s, when he was still President of the American Blondie fan club and had painted it in that color to honor the singer. When he found himself a couple years later
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