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, 22 November 2011

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you shall waltz towards the gates of the garden in grace. creatures whose eyes reflect the brilliance of the sky, these your children. they shall fuss about your tattered skirts, shrieking- you are a merciful rose.
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