Living—rather than merely writing or thinking—my “newly extended body of technological engagement,” I find the fragility of my flesh significantly precious. Although I am deeply grateful for the motility my prosthetic affords me (however much in a transformation that is perceptually reduced as well as in some ways amplified), this new leg is dependent finally on my last leg. Without my lived body to live it as a meaningful capacity, the prosthetic exists as part of a body without organs and no sense of responsibility: if you prick it, it does not bleed. Such a techno-body has no sympathy for human suffering, cannot understand human pleasure, and—since it has no conception of death—cannot possibly place value on a human life.