(Nearly excised: In the way of illustrating to myself that soon I'll need a paragraph break, she is leaving the room: she has seen the extent to which she is an Other—by that I mean censorious, tyrannical. Yet if she is like most subjects she is concerned above all on realizing her own ends, pursuing her Will how she'd better retrieve her own project of subjectifying, subject-constructing, and the like: writing, love, learning, and finally, the F bomb.

I am finally unable to revive my writing about literature by steeping it in quotidian Ids and Egos; for these can still be seen truncating discussions on cyborg selfhood, ghosts in machines and leading to truly well-applied theories of relativity: knowing there is no actual point but throwing ideas up to make life interesting, at least if one stays at home reading as I do.
The problem I find is a benefit for Harraway; it might approach a solution. She says that a cyborg begins its existence lacking any notion of lacking anything: there has been no Fall for the cyborg race. It simply began, for all it knows: except we know how it happened, and the cyborg has in its databases access to all that we know on paper; and as a cyborg, it too can feel the portents of this knowledge, the qualities that defy normal terms in our daily lives, all that elusive stuff experienced most frequently with music or before sleep, betwixt the shower and the street. This could be the uncanny, but as an inescapable buzzword in literary studies, for the purposes of this paper, the uncanny will happily take a break.