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.

Tuesday, 11 October 2011

It's Not Real

We see what we want.


Ruela said...

right ;)

TICTAC said...

yeah, there is a big difference between seeing and not wanting to see.

A.Decker said...

This cracks me up. Good one.