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.
6 comments:
Ruela,
You're probably more extreme or hard core or whatever the fuck than I could be... well, probably ever...
And, I can't honestly say I'm really into a lot of your images (of course, that should mean next to nothing to you--right and proper).
BUT, I'm an old fart--no tattoos, ear-piercings long since over-grown, etc.
What the fuck do I know, eh? I'm looking, though...
I'd like to contribute to this blog (is "blog" the right word?).
Can you, Ruela, or anyone reading this, offer help/advice/suggestions?
--Rick
Thank you Rick, I guess ;)
ok, invitation on the "road"...
... !
Thank you, Ruela. I was drinking last night. Did it show? ;-)
What do you drink?
;)
wouldnt wanna be near if u cut off the chains..
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