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.

Saturday, 25 June 2011

...

we decay, one memory at a time. ashes to ashes, dust to dust. so it shall be. so on and so forth.

7 comments:

A.Decker said...

ad finito.


Meanwhile, I find this picture aesthetically appealing...

...Is that manure? Sure smells like it.

A.Decker said...

;-)

Mersault said...

Beutiful!!!!!!

jbkrost said...

Yep!!

Inconsequential said...

I like

Russell 'C.J.' Duffy said...

Down, down forever down into the clay we go...

Ruela said...

yes!