welcome to the haunted woods

I’m woods, and I’ll be your hauntelégist for the duration.

Hauntology and elegy pair together pretty perfectly, don’t you think?

It’s almost like Le Corps Poétique was pushed to the brink of the ship of fools, chose to dive off the edge, and found themselves swimming in ink soaked primordial waters where the only oxygen was coming from the rocks lying on the bottom. There, le corps poétique - the moving body - transformed into something that moved and breathed altogether differently - le corpse poétique.

This is the physics of the rain coming down to meet you, the hands reaching out of the underworld coming up to meet you, and diving into a shadow and coming up to breathe.

For nuanced takes on the Ship of Fools beyond Foucault’s work, see Bruce’s (2017) Mad is a place; or, the slave ship tows the ship of fools and Robert Hornback’s work on fools and blackface.