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 26 May 2011

repost, repeat, i am mute

i should not follow where your eyes used to lead me, yes, everybody lingers in the dust where they placed faith, based upon the deepest intuitive- the integral anatomist deep knowledge that they had come home, only to be proven wrong as is the endless route upon a faulted way since one can only feel what is right inside their own skin and be isolated there within for we are not of one another, rather just momentary glimpses into the random mirrors of others eyes, stuffing the holes, frantically grabbing at each other to soak up the endless mental bleeding- sinking skin into skin to feel attached, you were all i ever needed, just wanted to share your life as my small insect mind could only give all i knew yet the proverbial hips did not move right enough to fill the hole so we ran, running circles for ever and ever, so just try this, this endless black night, come home to your quiet mess, over and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over and some bright and nameless day- break the circle- tear it from your corpus callosum (WHITE MATTER) and throw it in the backyard to rot away and inevitably, no matter how it starts- rise up to steer clear of those that can see beyond the mirror, you know of that dark and miasmic side of endless night- there are a few of us that wear it like exquisite pulchritude- you are one, i am one, someday grace will find our other ones, be it graveside, sky side- all the same, serpent keeps it's tail distinguished from it's mouth but in the end, it's all the same straight, yet lachrymose flexible line towards the end.
i threw away the rage, no thought response needed, just a nameless and lugubrious affection ensues from a great distance- aimed straight and true..but in the end, dead wrong.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

This is just downright exquisite, and the picture is dead on.