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, 5 February 2013

3:24am


2 comments:

Oilsforfun-Cristina Homem de Melo said...

oh yes and sometimes that is a problem
How do I get rid of genetic love for me?

A.Decker said...

Give it to me. I want some more. ;-)