It is a hot morning, promising an even hotter day. The muses of
biotechnology dance in the gardens of the tidal flats, singing about
the beauty of basilar membranes, the ingenuity of protein kinases and
the solemn beauty of morphogenesis. Through the mists the strands of
the beanstalk reach for the heavens.
Unlike Leonardo's Vitruvian Man, we telemanipulating cyborgs cannot be
encircled by neat arcs swept through our outstretched limbs. Our grasp has no
limits-upper or lower. We have no fixed scale.
William J. Mitchell, City of Bits