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, 21 January 2013

certain inferior journeys, fraught with verdant possibilities, all is naught, all is grief.. give not in to errant desires for they are fleeting and cruel..

1 comment:

Russell Duffy said...

Fantastic image. Potent words.