Writing is technology, and the reader is a cyborg. Through (or with?) the text one establishes zones of contact (thought tendrils) between two systems (at least two, why couldn’t it be more?), one strange…alien…and initially outside, and the other familiar, adapting the familiar to fit the strange (which is also changed by the operation).
The cyborg reader is a decentered subject. It does its thinking in different places. In the brain but also out of the brain. In the eyes, the hands, and the skin, but also in the ink, the paper, and the screen. Cyborg thought has no absolute outside. This makes an aesthetics built around the sovereign judgment of an autonomous cogito impossible. The aesthetics of the cyborg are instead a function of estrangement and utility. Its art is mutation and disruption; its sublime is ugliness; its harmony is efficiency.
It isn’t always useful to see the particular substance of objects or to be deliberate about every activity. Sometimes it is better to see empty forms. Sometimes it’s better to shuffle along like zombies. But not always, and art snaps you out of your sleepwalk and renders difference visible.
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