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.

Thursday, 21 April 2011

Vorbehalt

Hic sumus nec vivus, nec defunctus. Larvae cadunt. Fugiamus somnia, translucens carnem corporis. Vivemus adult integras prole vitam animae. In corpore fervet. Amisimus habitum explicandis motus. Arena stridens oculorum auriumque. Transiit poetica dicunt non relinquat aliquod verum. Femora immolabat ardeat sed non devenitur fumo deos. Fractus cruentaque articulos muro clavi motum. Fecal auris. Finibus Pessimismus.
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7 comments:

Ruela said...

I need my sunglasses at midnight ;)

21 April 2011 at 00:21
Ruela said...

I love the rhythm on this!
very cool Lazare!

21 April 2011 at 00:23
Lazare said...

thanks x

21 April 2011 at 00:24
Oilsforfun said...

Yes great rhythm but not the best color without sunglasses

21 April 2011 at 10:23
murmurists said...

Great imagery and pace; and I like the colour, too.

22 April 2011 at 23:30
Lazare said...

Nothing if not the light...

22 April 2011 at 23:59
Ruela said...

yes you're right Lazare, sometimes I miss the old black...

23 April 2011 at 00:30

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