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, 13 July 2011
Coyote chews the leg to hurt the hurt, I chew my soul at first thought of you. Each bite reminds me of lifes fantastic possibilities, and its pain. Arresting images you evoke, all blood and fear and love and terror. What a beautiful pattern you cut against a tepid sky. I carve myself a purpose against the edge of your image, each cut going deeper until the bone has been etched clean, and veins have come loose to attach themselves to passing clouds. I am a network of new beginnings, I no longer see through blind eyes. I am scar. A membranous machine stretched to the wingspan of a rook. I take flight--earth rises up and I with it.
Justin Lee Brown 2011
Posted by Justin Lee Brown