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, 15 June 2011

Preoccupied

Still no excuse for a long absence from here.

3 comments:

A.Decker said...

Great reappearance! Good to see ya, Mo.

Ruela said...

very beautiful!

manina31 said...

always absent when i walk