The Dark Angels are a come and go crew. They create then disappear like street art. Their works exist in fragments, particles that float, dust motes that spin before the wind that blows them to faraway places. They are individuals that work as one. Deep as oceans, as impenetrable as the night. Art urchins and poets, they dissolve before they form. They are the Dark Angels, they are discharge. They are a bloody mouthful.
5 comments:
ins. of nail bomber / halo halo halo
it will never rain on your parade forever
nice!
gyro-guts
Thanks JD, thanks Ruela xx
The bulletin parade is my facade. Feeling nifty at over fifty. GOTCHA.
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