... Sans rien en lui qui pèse ou qui pose. — Paul Verlaine  
  Second Edition, 30 April 2011  
Noise, Nonsense & Ai Weiwei

By Louis Martin

The enemy is noise.

The world loves it.

The buzz, the beat, the mindless rhythm, the endless repetitions.

Hand over your brains, it says; put 'em in the bin here. You don't need 'em.

Noise, noise, everywhere. Nonsense and much much more ...

Noise as marketing, noise as sales, noise as propaganda, noise as punk-youth, in-your-face rebellion. And pure noise: noise for the sake of noise, a negative statement about all things, especially the noise maker....

Buzz, "Core Interests" & A Solitary Oar

By Louis Martin

The noise is even worse.

The world loves what it should hate and hates what it should love. Who said that? Saint Francis of Assisi, the gentle spirit of lightness and love? I think so. But the world refuses to learn the lesson of love.

The stranger's face tells the tale. The stranger's face is flush with ale? Rhythms without reason, it's the season? Sense, tense, alone by the fence.

Sound without logic or reason.
Reason without logic or sound.

Monique très oblique.

Sense, since; whence, thence? ...
Sens, puisque; d'où, ? ...

Illumination: Seeing the Light in Hong Kong
By Louis Martin

Stone reality,

dream cloud;

reality isn't,

only the dream.

Is isn't,

is it?

Don't let the job be you;

full mental employment is no job at all.

For profit is not for yours;

it's for wasting your life away,

don't do it.

Poetic Art: Clear San Francisco Day

By Louis Martin

Clear San Francisco day —

     Columbus Avenue





Caffe Puccini


     The night     


I was thinking of death....               


Poetic Art: Hostels, Headlands & Beyond

By Louis Martin

In late November, due to visa problems in China and tired of government propaganda there, I decided to return to San Francisco for six months. As usual these days I was not loaded with cash, so hostels appeared my only choice other than the street. For many these days the "youth hostel" has become a cheap dormitory to weather out the depression or "great recession", if that's what you want to call it. But then I got an idea. I would turn my impoverished situation into a game and stay in every hostel in San Francisco. Maybe this would give me something to write about. And I could work on some poetry too.

I returned on a Tuesday about 1:00 PM—about the same time I left Shanghai—having regained the day I lost when I went to Shanghai. I was amused with arriving in San Francisco the same day and nearly the same time I left Shanghai but was also thoroughly discombobulated from two connecting flights and going through security multiple times. Security drives me, and just about everyone I know, nuts these days. I suppose it is necessary—and I'm sure somebody makes a whole lot of money from it—but it mars the travel experience for most people. Remember when flying used to be fun? That was a long time ago....

Poetic Art: The Morning Begins ...

By Louis Martin

The morning begins with a big bang,

An old man falling on the stairs

at Caffe Roma,

his head hitting the window,

solid sound of collision.

I wonder what he was thinking

the moment before.

Helped up,


he acts like it was nothing,

even smiles....

  Premiere Edition