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.

Friday, 28 December 2012

...

birdie bland felt cold last night, sought out miss dulcie wintle, said let's go to the alley cock fight.
'no birdie, not me, not since someones gone and eaten my sanity... it's like when you built my house on hens legs stilts which ain't no good when a water snake does swim my way..'

1 comment:

Russell Duffy said...

A deep sense of disenchantment; of being an outsider in a very alien world.