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.

Friday, 3 June 2011

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"On the hillsides old crops dead and flattened..murder was everywhere upon the land. The world soon to be populated by men who would eat your children in front of your eyes and the cities themselves held by the cores of blackened looters who tunneled among the ruins and crawled from the rubble white of tooth and eye carrying charred and anonymous tins of food in nylon nets like shoppers in the commissaries of hell." Cormac McCarthy, The Road.
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2 comments:

Russell CJ Duffy said...

Cormac makes me green with envy. Brilliant story teller.

3 June 2011 at 17:27
Anonymous said...

I should read that. The movie was great.

4 June 2011 at 23:48

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