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.
Wednesday, 8 June 2011
Petals~
Suddenly, broken clocks are the order of the day. Mine has only chimed once and it assured me it was by mistake.
"Hands held together, patient blasphemer."
It sits in the corner of the room and hums to itself. I wish now I had taught it pitch.
1 comment:
You grow and grow and all the while get beter and better. Brilliant.
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