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.

Monday 19 September 2011

...

you came at night by way of train, steam hissing through a clustered canopy of skeletal trees that filtered light from a thousand days of chaos.
such impromptu behaviors burned your likeness into the glass wall- a secret language written in fluid, caustic.

5 comments:

Art said...

Interesting picture!

Ruela said...

fucking cool!

Coffee Messiah said...

; )

TICTAC said...

love it!

jbkrost said...

Its a collection of Bacon people..
Love them!