Saturday, April 24, 2010

Saturday at The Los Angeles Times Festival Of Books at UCLA

If you write a book, people will come.

A young author from 826LA read her work. She wrote The Smiths. She lives in Echo Park. I remember a time when I was also the son and the heir of  a shyness that was criminally vulgar. 

The stage was empty. Earlier, a poet read a poem about some love supreme. Some  poems just make me feel too insecure. Is the spaghetti too salty? Does my coffee have enough creamer? Will my husband  stay with me 40 more years? 

And this is how this man's back looked like when he listened to poetry.

There was a house far from here with green floor and red geraniums.  One day poetry arrived.  

Mr. Dave Eggers wrote books. We came to listen to his experience.

I took home some words.


  1. the man with the hat was Mr. Nabokov, I'm sure

  2. canto de caza:
    yeap, that was him, alright. poor, lolita, thought, she was sooooo bored.

  3. Lolita estaba dijo que iba por una soda y se estaba ligando a un chico en las jardineras de atras del set de poesia.

  4. Hi Trying:

    Sometimes I go to presentation of books.
    I think however that almost everything is already written, of one or another form.
    It is a good habit to read books, but I consider an intimate act.
    I liked your photos, instead of words.

    (The man with the white hat is Cuban, his wife is on your right).