Work in Progress Random Sample  (updated 5/9/2022):


Sod Martin Needs the Electric Chair

Electric. Bink.

Spam-bink deteriorating past d’ deterioration oof detri’ ‘rearierate, lock lodges and the words came thicker darker and—whetever color’s the color of something totally wrong. Words up down back evil words up down back behind careless and words back under passed by don’t care don’t give chimpanzee; ever a shit. Even a shit. Not even something low and then lower ‘til lowest of all of a shit was worth Sod Martin. The grimacing ‘cross the jury panel rippled as like, heck the jury sat behind thick super-aquarium-like steel glass in a blur as across them blew—Sod Martin no feelings, Sod Martin terror-farm, Sod Martin’s money stripped away taken would never clean the Damian family of the stink of the deep having been cruelly screwed down, the empty chair at dinner et et the place setting unused as in ten thousand years those out there’ll break in the room say it was odd and it was strange and it was never ever heard of for a wide long bit-table for dinner, that kind of table yes—oh you, back there, ask that again, please—oh, yes, it was quite obviously nothing more than a rudely common cheap fibreboard dining room table gussied ‘n nonesuch to look festively, but you would expect. For all six settings to be. To be set if in fact there. In fact there were to be set the table was bought of the proper size to accommodate the size of the family, there was just one place setting neatly set place setting still set there and apparently, because there’s no evidence to the contrary, it was set and then remained set for all these several more or less hundreds of thousands uss’ Hurst-shifter years since the inhabitants fled leaving only one memory to define them that the place setting what that hey ho of one Ben ho hey Damian and hey hey hey ho ho ho it was set in honor of his absence kind leader and much of the wise of the while indogignonielle this’s done all brakeshoellery this ways when the Ben Be’ ‘e snatched over sadly and gone for no reason at all ‘cept one bad, das, murdered by Sod Martin; shift over, all’s suddenly narrowed; see the Martin corner your very bo b’ her man too lets not forget, the Sod Martin sod hands surround’d ni’cneck squeeze and shoved your very bo b’ her man too lets not forget into th inescapable tight of the corner and watched inches out ball to eye of your your very bo b’ her man too lets not forget, in the strugglement, your boy-Ben’s done died, ma’am—hot-pooey, to early to rise—its not nearly even one but—poke poke poke your son has been murdered no no roll over, pillo-bed! Pillo-bed ‘n shut up me no yes for sure and for definite your sin has been murdered and okay shit up face yell okay to the death house Sod Martin swat off yer damned money ‘ss Martin-Sod money flow it off safe—we want him in the death house. Who’s that going in the death house? Oh turn them. Let me see them—okay no one small good lay back into the soft go g-oo-o go come up doze come up sleep wave over rear and plunge sweet o’er comma take me—



Sod Martin needs to go to the death house!

Sod Martin belongs in the death house!

We suffer! Suffer!

Suffer and die in th death house a la Ben suffer and die in the death house what death house well the Martin Sod farm death house follow him in basta-Sod follow him in follow in him into the death house the dea’ ‘se—ack.

Electric. Low.

Shoot. Chair.

See, this was Nora’s fantasytickly-snootful of what she felt since her Ben got taken and, as her dream turned to wishes for the death of just one tiny many of your billions of creations. Oh father, surely you could snuff just one nobody else either wants to see go on living anyway surely God please send him down push him in the death house whatever style of your choosing face down in the death slough your foot down ‘nto his back pressing—tight, tight, okay—pop! Comes the money flow and after the farm flow no Father more for me just for me, the life-flow. His life’s a mistake. Which we are sure you can correct. Give us. Give us the. Us the proof give us for there’s something in him that needs to be destroyed. It whirls around him. A wind of a kind of evil’s tightened thick all around him—no one can ever care for him, Father; or like him at all, want him around, or want anything but the worst for him, and, it seems, he knows. Look at him; watch him get worse the more all goes against him to do so it was a freedom he had to be any way he wanted to be because what’s the point of goodness when no matter what you attract condemnation, so what? So what? So—they so wanted to erase him delete him rub him out cut him down shatter him completely, oh, would time turn back and make it so Sod Martin had never existed. But, even if that were possible they’d still be left with the sense of a foul void where something which might have seen the light of day might have been the worse thing in the world so thank God time went back thank God it could be worse, amen; we can deal with a smell as long is it can’t kill us. So long as its just an inert suggestion that something—smelling like that—came much too close to being born among us. How close that had come, is Frightful as the trial went in and the analysis continued and the proof about Ben Damian’s death was laid at Sod’s feet; as we got him; yes we got him we—but—what?

Yah we got him on that maybe yes but what? but yes we go him can’t be be happy with what we can do better than what? He will still be alive! Who wants such filth alive? Better than nothing, what, what? Really? We can—say it again? Say it plain? God! The death house? Sod Martin stripped of all and then ran out into the death house? We can do that? We can end him? What death house—who? What?

Electric Chair.


We can end Sod Martin like hand up wait watch listen, and slam!

Electric Chair.


Electric Chair Electric Chair Electric.

Sod Martin may be sent to the chair sent to the death house chair in the death house, how wonderful. What’d he do my God no not wonderful but yes at the same time, God damn him. God damn him. Yes yes yes—let’s jump on this send Sod Martin to the death house—okay okay.


Thank God yes. Sod to th death house.

The chair.

Let me pull the switch.

He is now in the chair proceed.

No me—



Proceed proceed pro’ he is.

I was here first!


He is fixed in the chair so proceed.





With the chair with the chair whose chair his chair.

Thank God!

He is firmly seated in the electric chair so.

Pull the switch.

Send this devil to the death house!

Pull the switch.



Okay; then; that was the gush of the what have you and the surprise that flowed through everyone in town the lawyers the judge the Damians the Julius the frogman and his Willies and the Bertha’s all ‘round-world—got—as’—astonished down-tootin’ when the lawyers what lawyers working for the Damians to sue ‘ue ‘u’ Sod Martin for everything he was worth those very same sharpened steel knifblading hottielegalles turned up a young man name of Kip Slangularre, who also worked at the sod farm, and, like, said—there had been another death.

It was the Damian’s lawyers who yes no.

Death yes no maybe kind of like, yah another death.

Yes no it was the Damian’s lawyers fo’ Ben Damian, deceased.

Of maybe too, a murder. Plus a death, well.

No not two, one, but—kinda maybe even more, but.

Get real Kip. Get real. Who; and he started talking so—lets jump up ‘head, and in.

—It was Lawrence, yah—


Davey Lawrence was yes—I’m sure that was his name. He was cocky but Sod kept him on because he was the only one knew even a little of the massively steelie-booted hundredwheeled bunandy-zhangin’ water-root system rolled all ‘round Sod’s great-biggest green rooted circularity—s’what it seemed to be when viewed by unknowns and noneessentials, et cetera, et-tu—when seen flying over cross-country—Ezekiel—aneniende las systemo’d stod dead its rollering and deposit sometimes a three-yard wet deep o’er the field which needed to be swum down into for the failed mechanikamystical leading edge sensors—available also in black crackle if thy body sow request’d when off-slashed her majesty’s most painful foot-corns after which she signed on to a mass celebration needled up fine with the appropriately respectful grand-flourishes a la any available royal fireworks overture will do if nothing else matters—in the opiate of her grand gowning ‘n—overall hoopla! Electric chair. Grind in, crush tight yes, yes, yes, please don’t ask it again; what, ‘re you deaf? Yes, I’m sure. Lawrence was his name—why would I say it if I were not sure? I am sure as I’m dead but alive still, right here, he’d been seen slamming down his cap; he’d been heard by many overalls cursing out loud; and, kicking up clods to be better propelled, he’d run ran ren-plunge’d in the flood muck and all; with the two twenty still toggled up off the control board. How difficult! How dangerous! All this will I give you, if you will but—no matter that’s later and this is here now judge sorry tap tap fizz fizz sorry judge sorry oof! Why in the gut like that—oof! Oof! Okay—and we’d watch from afar the wild lengths he’d stay under, breath held, ‘n ‘s bag of a lung—one got removed ‘fore the war hiss hiss hiss. Bonk. So says his legend. Ah yes, by y’all’s walls of noise threw up first o-er your water then second in my face, he’d come up, go down, come up, down, up, three, four—bleat, bleat, bleat, bahhhh—sometimes more or less, but. He had what it took to do whatever it took to get that round rollering hosepakinishtikonne up online again. Slow he’d come back, the lake off behind draining down swiftly, and he would yell half drowned in ruined clothing and all, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph—I’m gonna’ give hell to Martin I see him. Is he there? Look peer lean is his car there? Look, peer, is he—is he the no he seems not to be he’d damned lucky’s sis twat, I will once and for all choke the hell electric chair from him if that is what chair it will end up electric electric chair to get him to fly out a factory crew—no don’t tell me of expense, what’s expense when the th’ t’ ‘e? God damn, crap. Look at me, look—the drench and the filth off me, and the wheeze in wheeze out my brain want so bust, and be free in the open air, see? Even my organs rebel knowing they will die sooner or later, die inside of me, for as long as that sucker’s not fixed. Thank you Carmen—oh, swoot. And, actually, at least two three eight or quite a few less times we saw Lawrence charge up to Sod’s house, when his blackbulker of a used-up rustbucket—formerly a solid good Lincoln—squatted in his side-driveway. Sure, Martin was at the farm now and then, ‘stead of the casino or the bar, at last a few times each ten decades. Go on up his side-driveway, Alice. That’s right. That’s right! We got to hear it. What happens? The whole crew paused there, wanting to know—uh—what? No judge, sorry—I keed, I keed, All right. Okay.

Lawrence went to the house, and went right in without knocking. Now. Then. How could anybody work? We pushed in, close as made sense to. Nobody went at Sod that way, ever. We watched and we listened Every time but that last, it was quiet. Every time but that last Lawrence came out red in the face, arm swinging, calling out, I told him good. This time he better listen—but—God damn you all! I told him good! I did.

We stood in semicircle looking at Lawrence and as we started to break up and return to the field we carried Lawrence along like waving—one waves a flag to defend when on certain kinds of marches, marched out, and along, in the course of a life. Lawrence shone as a flag we began to look up, a flag to look up to we began to look up to, hic—sorry—he waved along ‘bove us carried long us it did seem and he’d say, starting loud, then sinking with each word being careful not to sink too quick, and therefore go silent, before his really going silent. No good to hit that last point home on some kind of a day late, ‘n a dotard short, so as that no one hears it he was yes really something.

He went.

That’s what you all ought to do. The man’s just a man! Not a God or a devil! Just a man! You and those before you have taught him he’s flawless and his sod’s a God-gift to unfortunates of all lifestyles, he’s not God he’s not God God no not God no not God not a God or the or the only God, heckwise; but what? Judge?

You are getting carried away, too away, crooned the laplandishly freakishly outrestyling robed-up man, set ‘hind a Sears desk, bought back down oh-two, by the first furry men seeming back then just small childish.


Say what happened. Not what you thought of what happened.

Okay—Lawrence came out and told us to model ourselves after him as a God ehh.

Say what happened. Not what he said or what you or what anyone there said if it. Just what happened. Bang ‘ang ban’ ‘an’ ‘g-bangidy-bangpow, like that! Just what happened!

What was said is an integral part of what happened.




Yes! As Lawrence told us, we beamed back awe, admiration, and envy, empowering him to set that same example time and time and more and again, without which he may have not done it over and over until the final time over that he got shotgunned down dead!

Huh! What?

Could you not say the whirling planet did it forcing the life onto itself did it forcing Sod Martin to exist after all he never asked for it and so forth so on and the very creation of the phenomenon of death did it after all no death no murder no life no murder. Also there is such a thing—no not made up—of the involuntary swipe-upping scabat-pickery in response to the tiny of one single itch. You don’t hesitate; we don’t hesitate; never hesitate.

We didn’t hesitate—every time we watched the house, and. It just stood there but for the last time when it sure still did yes it did it still stood there, but, there were sounds. Different. Shouting and banging I heard but none of the other guys could ah ah I—

No-so objection, judge—is this hearing not hearsay? Is anything heard not, not—hiccup by queen settle, no disrespect intended b-but is something heard not—hearsay?

Maybe yes, no, but; maybe even no soi in the interest of once the thread’s stuck in the whole needly-enne thread work of its completely useless, so resume Kip now. Right now.

Resume now?

Yes. Resume.





Hoke! Pop-squatty, thank you, yes thank you, ‘cause, its dying for me to tell. What it was is, I heard shouting and banging an’ you see see me I can yes heart manytimes slightly even the same as and yes, I admit, sometimes a hair or three less than, hiccy-cupula! A dog. You know everyone laughs when throughout my life I said that, but b’ brutus, judge, don’t judge only but also believe that sometimes I can hear better than a middle-aged dog. This makes me qualified and labels me as credible when I tell you loud sounds never heard before when Lawrence barged into Sod Martin’s house were heard that last time Lawrence barged into Sod Martin’s house.


Oh yeah?


Here, let me footrest this out t’ ‘ya—how do you know there are not later times Lawrence barged into Sod Martin’s house whose house well Sod and you were not Martin’s house there to see Lawrence barge into—right into—the same actual Sod Martin’s house?

Yeah so I—hystendarian mondo-mosh yes no wait this is something is somhing soing song song ‘on’ ‘n I acka I—

What? Kip, here. What were you about to say?

Oh I kinds ind stop to wait ai we are talking about a big deal I ea here er aIa could—oh, think, I, uhh—do not toss away opportunity this time Kip—e’la he of the soddenlt swindlledown big-gown bad judgement loss of his opportunity so many times before so many times many I I I eck, I. Suddenly out his right eye, hum.


Slangularre balked—b’tenne--!

I need a break. I need the bathroom. Bad!



Okay, then leaned back and checked their watches and funny—one checked o’er the right side and tnothering’s other checks out to her left. I got to thanks, okay—sure yes why not, as, a matter, of fact; we can pick back up t’morrow since now it’s ‘eady o’ four—two seconds to, to be exact, And all anal. So be back there twamorrow. Yes. I’m actually glad you asked for a break because I got to get a hold on how best to arrange all these notes. Twamorrow, then?

Yes. Tomorrow—no nicities please t my bladder is bursting. In this last urge the work dat whirled gone b-but Slangularre had a call to make. I mean the wizz’s whizzing hell there’s nothing wring with calling a legal mind for wizz, wizzz, shot straight ah less. And less almost. For legal advice.


Wow that’s s’something get a phone in some privacy call head judge.

Das nicens all nicens ‘lly-veryone’s all nicens when one’s done. Ring.

You know ring ring ring—ring-ring, his name.

Yah bock ring. Ring. Ring. No one will be there thank God it is wrong to do this anyway so, leave a message. Eh judge (insert name I forgot already) I have information about the uh hello, the Sod Martin case I know duh, doo, gat da booster of a hello to get on goan’ shh, here’s the gist okay judge I have information which is much more so damnationg than just a much more so simple civilian lawsuit of a macmatter, hic, I know of more deaths there. Uh huh. Yah yo. I know of at last one clean rip of a shotgun styled murder there oh. Huh? There may have be extastainulting and other mid-insulating supra-devonian lingo-stick worded tickle sa’ hot-hot doggery of, but I know. Yes I know. I know what happened can I make big mony, ‘cause, I know. I do know. Enough to so-so put Sod Narteen in that chair, that chair. What chair? You know the chair. The supra ho-ho-lot superheated swan-songing AC powered electronically regulated sturdy oak chair. You now. Out Ben’s prison. Uh?

I know of no such prison, son. But upstate there’ a Cairn State where they used to have a chair, but you know, they haven’t used a chair up there for God’s single-mind of a truth spread out d’outback the least seven-dreamed years. Y’ know?

Wait Father. If it be your will—before you pass that cup by me—no chair up there? Would that also mean—no chairs as well? Chair vs. chairs. Would it be acceptable and true to you Father, and, again, (the turn of phrase big Pop used to cause wincing with) that it would be acruatte to say there have been no chairs in use up ole’ Gobsmack since most all when we now term oldies were some new and some others even not even been created?


Oh. Sorry. Here. Not even been created yet?

You talk strangely, Grasshopper. This means you will not be able to learn.

Learn? Learn what? What?

How to live in this flow state all the time.

Uh? But I do know that they have no chairs up Poodlie-Snow prison, way up that long-north river.

There is no such place. You are Kip Slangularre, are you not?

Uh yes I am but old back up rewind, restore; you did say there was a Lancelot State Prison for the criminally insane way up the north river.

No. I did not.

Did to.

Did not.

Did to roll eyes sway body toss mane swish away flies smoke ‘em if you got ‘em take five by nine here in Pensacola I have a knick-knack zippo up my slicklined oa’ freaker and my body is ready so go. Maypole, over.

So what in those far north prisons where there are no longer chairs they either stand, lean, or lie down; no sitting no no sitting because—they no longer have those chairs why did they do away with those chairs Liza dear Liza they were deemed inhumane dear Henry dear Henry they were deemed inhuman dear Henry, inhumane—ook ook ook.

Sleeply slo-ache!

I hate it when that happens, Kip nearly exclaimed out loud—as the phone continued ringing and ringing judge phone judge phone you’d think a damned judge phone’d have a working voice mail answering system but he does not why were t hey deemed inhumane dear Liza dear ring rin’ they were deemed too painful dear Henry dear Henry it was deemed too cruel a way to die Henry too cruel a way to die, uck! Why is using a chair a cruel way to die? Why is sitting in a chair a way to die at all? People have passed sitting in chairs dear Henry people have passed in chairs Henry in chairs but not that often Liza, dear Liza dear Liza—as a matter of fact the percentage of people dying of natural causes1 sitting in chairs is too small to be practically expressed dear Liza so how the hell can that be true, true, that be true?

If wired up properly dear Liza dear Liza if the chair’s wired properly dear Liza it can be true but but how can a mere piece of wire make the chair lethal gibb-by-gibberish on ‘n on swat swack swine flow out the no no no you are going to ruin out rug jongleurs de deu—

Hello? Judge Ranier here.

—uck! Sn-n-n-n-n-ww petucko! Ah uh eh oh hello judge you don’t know me but I’m in the middle of telling law enforcement some hitherto Liza dear information about a—dear Henry well a possible murder I witness eh hah just woke up and disoriented is against FAA rules for a pilot to take the controls of landing an airliner when just wakened from the deep down underside of a doze. Y’know—

Back off wait you on something, son? Why you calling me anyway, when you claim to be in touch with local law enforcement? Work with them. You don’t have to work with me. And—who the hell is—what—Liza? And—Henry?



This a prank, son?


And illegal as well.

Hang up.

Sigh. Bad idea anywort.


Uh? Thassall? Thassall? As ‘f it don’t matter what I am actually saying what I am really meaning is is is is it ethical judge, to make money big, when what you got says they’ll get the nail in the down of the rim of the coffins of enemies ‘fter?


We start up once in a time-more, tomorrow? It is now five six, seven, maybe, or—better yet just two seconds to four. More or less.

(it occurred to Kip he might profit from going on – explore!!)

Talk secret to Julius

Talk secret to Doc Damian.


Actually n’ plogg-typically, gas-actually—his same actual house? Candy-prouve it?


The water’d-sluiced down the icy cold impersonality of his dead by hot stinging super-ganglionlical electric track surge voyage down Charon’s way and quite possibly lengths beyond (undetermined which system of measurement to be applied salving down this cruelty). Unheard of in his lifetime unfortunately too late to learn to live with too strong too hot too fast. Nack-tappa’ the average casketry typically supported by this state. Political. Pan-executionry. Political. Pan-political. Depending what’s funded by. The political state to provide; pan-executionry.