So, Michel Foucault

You were once the panopticon, out there in the desert, like a sign, wearing your sign nature white polo neck shirt. 

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Taking LSD with your beat generation academic friends. You at the center of the panopticon looking out at your friends, friends, friends, friends.... they looking in wondering if the I that is you would map onto the I that they had previously projected for you. Like an eye to the power of one in his own little panopticon. Yes it all made sense. It was like your own little private joke which spawned a mushroom with lots of little port holes round the panopticon. This is my only bullet on the subject of Foucault.