flesh kindle, summer heighten, at home among olde stone. each wall holds centuries, holds own stories- stone witness, accumulating eras of what it means to be human. so many essential threads of passions and pains be universal.. but some drastic differences give shudders or heavy the modern heart, centuries later....which sees and holds so much, and is left with such lineages of error to reprocess. Press breast or hand or cheek or head to the stone skeletons that remain, whom the mossies & the leafies have reclaimed. Feel. what can be heard? of what it means &meant to be Woman in these old aesthetically irresistible patriarchal walls. the deliciousness of ruins. what it means to wander freely. what it meant to marry , and what it means to be able to drive a car. to be naked among the elements without shrinking in an overly objectified world. to be able to revel in beauty&birdsong on old open-skied floors that were once cloaked in cold stone darkness& the light of fires, infused with a long lineage of proper ladies who rarely chose their own husbands, and oft had to spend more time stuck in-castle than Out, compared to what men were "allowed" to do.. buildups of bitterness, secrets, royal blood and royal murder;; and the sweat of servant folk who scrubbed these stones on hand & knees and were forbidden to mingle too closely or sweetly with those they served. think of how little one could be put to death for. what it meant to steal. are there ghosts here, or is it just the rattling of some recent year lads' rusting old beer cans in what remains of the dungeon? maybe sprinkle a moment of embodied subversion unto them floors , by doing things like singing a 15th century dirge about eating landlords w a genderqueer lover &sharing a non-hetero castle kiss just for good measure. & enjoy what Beauty remains. #castlewalls #ruins #feminism #patriarchy #stilldramatic&romanticasfuckallthesame