Cannibal flower

So I'm having some personal version of Mercury retrograde over here whereby my computer is only doing what it feels like doing at any given moment. It's a Bartleby thing.

Which is to say, I posted this already once tonight and Blogger ate it.

More briefly this time, then: This weekend Portia and I met a posse at Cannibal Flower, an art/music/hipster nomadic thing. I think it may aspire to be a happening, but no one has painted the bathroom silver, so it just doesn't work. Anyway, it was fun and people were actually pretty friendly--as they tend to be at LA hipster events in my experience (or maybe I just no longer give a fuck what kind of impression I make so everyone seems friendly to me because I'm sort of the Chauncey Gardner of the night, who knows). There was one guy who looked remarkably like a Mafioso version of Ducky from that John Hughes movie and there was a couple--the "white people"--who were attempting to be spectral I think. I spent a good part of the evening restraining the urge to trip over an invisible seam in the concrete with a glass of red wine in my hand. Next time I'll get some shots of Ducky and the white people. For now, here are some other pics.



Portia and the Cabinet of Curiosities







Who looks inside awakes