The cyborg is a kind of disassembled and reassembled, postmodern collective and personal self. This is the self feminists must code.

The cyborg would not recognize the garden of Eden; it is not made of mud and cannot dream of returning to dust.

In a sense, a cyborg has no origin story in the Western sense – a ‘final’ irony since the cyborg is also the awful apocalyptic telos of the ‘West’s’ escalating dominations of abstract individuation, an ultimate self untied at last from all dependency, a man in space.

We have all been injured, profoundly. We require regeneration, not rebirth, and the possibilities for our reconstitution include the utopian dream of the hope for a monstrous world without gender.

Cyborg writing must not be about the Fall, the imagination of a once-upon-a-time wholeness before language, before writing, before Man. Cyborg writing is about the power to survive, not on the basis of original innocence, but on the basis of seizing the tools to mark the world that marked them as other...

Blasphemy has always seemed to require taking things very seriously.

Why should our bodies end at the skin, or include at best other beings encapsulated by skin?