"A seventeen-year brood...
Epoxy clay, freeform darning, welded metal bars treated with muriatic acid,
branch from unknown scrub tree overtaking the abandoned highway of Gwynns Falls in Baltimore, MD, latex paint
...raise their chitinous limbs from the dark vacuum of gleyed soil, and into an unpredictably accelerationist milieu of square feet of rentable area. A new continent, so vast and vacant are its many floors of live-work space...
Upon its ecdysis, the cicada knows that what seem to be inherited memories of the past are revealed as tactics of the future to infiltrate the present. A desacralization, a catastrophe who's cause lies so deep in cellular history, so absolutely detached.
Many larvae remain trapped beneath the newly laid cement, unable to burrow heavenward. If you put your ear to the pavement, you can still hear them intone... I am Business. I am Profit & Loss. I am Beauty come into the Hell of the Practical."