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, 9 October 2011

Abandoned spaces - I am home

I came here to find -- and found nothing
I came here for echoes of voices I thought to be familiar -- gone
Delusion is grand!

Pins cannot drop suspended in limbo

I love this nothing; I love this limbo

This is where my voice is lost and
This is where silence screams at the world
This is where the world screams at silence

Shhhh! Scream as loudly as you must



Coffee Messiah said...

Nicely done = Cheers!

Ruela said...

Welcome ;)

Mersault said...


TICTAC said...

Shhhh!this is good! :-)

Iryna Harpy said...

Thank you, all, for leaving an echo ;)

A.Decker said...

Something about this reminded me of something about this.

Iryna Harpy said...

Quite so, Albert... quite so...