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.

Sunday, 24 July 2011


made of star stuff, we are. reduced to dust, we are. memento, frail fabric. let us rise. again.


Anonymous said...

I love the smell of old wood in the morning. Smells like..."let us rise. again."

Ruela said...

let's rise!