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, 14 November 2011

An eternal chasm of echoing angst...

4 comments:

Inconsequential said...

Nice.

Ruela said...

thanx Inc.

A.Decker said...

A surrealistic Greek Tragedy, summed up in one shot(well, plus the title). Remarkable.

Mersault said...

wonderful!!!!!... disappearance of the body, denial of the body. Great title.