to my fellow Foucaultians: may this space, now a desiccated valley deprived of the life-giving rain of discussion and disputation, flourish and grow verdant. come and plant the seed of an idea; bring your harrows of analysis; divert the rivers of imagination; yoke the oxen of debate with the cart of perception.
once our valley is fertile, and our civilisation well-founded, let us mine the quarries of intellectualism and build a temple to our new god, Michel Foucault, that will be the envy of neighbouring civilisations, such as the one devoted to that Roland Barthes, with his side-parted coiffure and air of insouciant sophistication.
our god has no hair, friends, but he does have glasses, and he does not smoke. therefore, he is a great deal more virile and health-conscious.
what care we for follicles, when we have the science of optics at our fingertips? and what value does a tweed blazer possess when confronted with frames like that?
let us genuflect as one, and offer libations, and strive to appease our undisputed lord and master in everything we do.
this was such an underrated post.
Posting in appreciation of this classic