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.

Thursday 28 July 2011

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SÁ SEM ÓTTAST DAUÐANN KANN EKKI AÐ NJÓTA LÍFSINS
WER DEN TOD FÜRCHTET KANN DAS LEBEN NICHT GENIESSEN
HE WHO FEARS DEATH CANNOT ENJOY LIFE.

2 comments:

Todeskino said...

very true

manina31 said...

wise words..great picture!