My heads currently still surrounded by the echo of the voice of a female singing acoustic solos in a 500 year old room. We can’t safely presume who’s been in there before, but it does feel safe to assume many of their ghosts still haunt York. At least allow the room for thought. Listen, please. I walk, and as I do speak to many species of birds and I have hopes for … [Read more...] about Listen, Please, By: Jonathan Conde
Trouble At The Mill, By: Jonathan Conde
All hands to pump there’s been trouble at the mill. Pitchforks brandished at the secret forest still. Damp moss smoke concealed by the silhouetted ceiling of birch, hazel, and sycamore. Furthermore, still caught in the depths of my first thoughts, thwarted, caught inside the contraction of falling underneath the weight of a wave whilst dancing in the foothills & … [Read more...] about Trouble At The Mill, By: Jonathan Conde