\input zine.sty

\lline{\hl Reliquary}
\lline{Henry Bowers, c/o Marc Ruvolo, 1628 W. Ohio, Chicago IL�
60622}
\medskip

%\raggedright

{\it Cee-en}\slash as the city\slash could\slash could not\slash�
pulse -- spires of unwarmed flesh and purple steel\slash ripped�
her sky\slash fingers protruding through the soiled silk\slash in�
the world\slash patters unraveling to her feet -- Urban XI wiped�
grease\slash blood\slash from thin blue lips\slash a napkin�
dropped\slash forms an ugly pall\slash dripping into the�
fractures of a papal city -- {\it Cee-en} -- her electric-eyed�
churches cupped like breasts\slash the papal city.

{\it Zi Dingir Kia Kanpa}. Catherine of Cee-en bled from both�
palms, her eyes reduced to animal slits and her lips touching his�
universe.

{\it Zi Dingir Anna Kanpa}. In the lobe of his ear three star�
flakes blazed, forming the constellation of his home, imparting a�
fiery pain, a searing knowledge of space between their lives.

And yet, at the touch, the expanses dwindled.

John Cultra moved like smoke through the dripping night, his eyes�
dark gold coins, his flesh and hair surgically tinted to a milky�
grey-white. {\it Cee-en} arrayed herself about him, spider�
fingers of concrete piercing the ground, coalescing the dead past�
faces at her fingertips to move their lips soundlessly on the�
cracked streets around him.

Death moved through Cultra's limbs, breaking his back, trickling�
the blood down his face and over his lips. He could no longer�
understand what he had lost, could not see exactly what it was;�
could not put it into coherent speech. Cultra placed his�
fingertips at his temples and willed the pain to increase -- his�
distant mother spoke: you will be pacing an irregularly shaped�
room, perhaps an askew ``L'' shape: and you will be leading a�
double life; both for people you love. And words like love and�
courage will eat at your mind because you don't believe in a�
heart or soul, and you will realize that your life of love and�
courage and truth is as fragile as ice or glass; transparent, and�
can never survive a world of unmanned machinery and�
bloodlessness. And you will look out a window laves with metal�
threads. You will see the sky. There is no more, no more.

``The Christ-Child lay on Mary's lap, his hair was like a�
light\dots'' The half-choked words rolled like syrup in the false�
dawn. `` O weary, weary, were but here is all aright\dots''

Daguerreotype flashes of pale memory -- heaps of plastic armor�
burned in the distance, frozen corpse's hands reaching from a�
makeshift grave to the cradle of the sooty moon -- it was a low,�
dark group of concrete hovels -- automatic weapons fire, cracking�
read, splintering breath\slash ragged tatters of blood.

John Cultra clutched at his stomach and rolled onto his back. A�
groan of cutting pain escaped his parched lips as a fresh wash of�
blood drooled between his fingers from the six-centimeter rip in�
his groin. ``O weary, weary is the world, but here the world's�
desire\dots'' Cultra drew the fingers of his free hand through�
his spiked yellow hair and licked the blood and saliva from his�
sharpened teeth, his left thigh twitched uncontrollably -- the�
flechette lodged in his lower abdomen was dissolving, releasing�
its debilitating poison.

(A red dark light in the sky (will it come soon\slash bathing�
small faces? life always thrives in shadow, will we find death in�
its light fingers over eyes?) rising) {\it We will find the one�
truth we will understand the one light}, hungry faces, worn�
fabric, and pale spikes, heightening, grasping near to death,�
chemical infused limbs.  {\it One light to guide our eyes and�
minds.} Two stark spotlights outlines John Cultra before the�
masses. The half collapsed building threw strict, jagged shadows.�
{\it Their fucking god, and Catherine his bitch, they say} {\it�
their fucking god is everywhere.} Trembling palms upward to the�
baby pink sky. {\it See our light false god and slut Catherine,�
all pervading.} Eyes alight. {\it all-truth}, Cultra's spade-like�
knife drove down into the waiting stomach, seven million minds�
followed him down. {\it Something to finally and} {\it ultimately�
believe in.} Shallow screams and the night exploded into blue.

Light from the street pushed its way past the dirt of the window,�
a murky rectangle of dim held onto the firm curve of his back as�
he pushed gentle then fierce into me. I wanted him because he was�
mine, do you know what I mean? It always was better and better�
because he was mine, when it pleased him kind of, no it really�
made me feel fucking good, like the joining of two worn parts. I�
traced the rectangle and my breath hurt in my throat. I looked at�
his face and it was screwed up into an expression of pain and�
pleasure -- brown freckles across his scrunched up nose and head�
shorn smooth to a fraction of an inch grit-blonde fuzz. Jealousy�
was our love. It tied us together tightly, made constrictingly�
delicious with mutual selfish gratification. It was easier to be�
together than apart. We looked out for each other. His whole body�
tensed and a little bead of sweat dripped near his navel as he�
came his breath rushing out between his teeth. ``Shit'' he said�
and flopped down beside me in the browned mattress.

``Sorry'' I said.

``No'' he turned on his side and put his damp arm across my�
chest, ``I mean shit, that was great.'' He smiled and closed his�
eyes.

I put my hand on his head, ``Anytime.'' I coughed hard. He slid�
closer resting his head on my shoulder. His firm stomach rose and�
fell erratically, he didn't open his eyes. I stared at the dusty�
window, I was still speeding so sleep probably wouldn't come to�
me for a little while. I rubbed a little dried blood off his�
shoulder and drew him closer for warmth. As I slipped away the�
words on the wall opposite the mattress blurred:

\vskip\parskip
{\parskip=0pt
\centerline{Bastard i would rape him if}
\centerline{i had the chance}
\centerline{i would make him cry out in agony}
\centerline{for all the things that i never had}
\centerline{for his good looks and his hatred of me i}
\centerline{would throw him down and}
\centerline{stare into his eyes until}
\centerline{he cried and washed my}
\centerline{hands clean of contempt}
}

Sleep came slowly rushing after.

No. No. No. No. Reject I reject them all. Crush this sick pitying�
faith. No. Never. I am God. We are God. Power is in our minds and�
hands. We will kill and claw and push ourselves to the pinnacles�
of this universe or else embrace oblivion, drive it into�
ourselves guided by our silent red star. The star that will burn�
us into freedom. The bestial species rending the ideas of�
morality and tradition minds must momentarily divert to move fuck�
fuck fuck lips and eyes twitching in ruthlessness fuck fuck fuck:�
Darkness fell like sand, the southern part of {\it Cee-en} lit�
with fire as the rioting and martial law entered its three�
hundred-and-fifty-ninth day. Inter-colony travel crawled to a�
near standstill as three vessels were seriously damaged my�
terrorist controlled thermal explosions. Urban XI petitions�
Catherine with urgent requests for any resolution she might have�
for the current unrest.


Glass-shard smoke curled in the sky and the air bit flesh with�
poison. The glorious beginning approaches. Laughter and acid.

Strips of wooden board floor buckling up to form lumps thick dirt�
between them the molding spray painted black or brown from one�
room to the next light gently fading into opaque in one a girl we�
don't know she is writing carefully on the wall in marker on a�
semi-blank portion of the wall use this to test yourselves ladies�
and gentlemen a quick thrust there now don't you feel sweet? All�
over on every wall is writing on paint crayon marker, when I talk�
to you my mind hurts it says above the door and next to it a�
green crayon christ exploding with geometrical shafts of light�
and beneath it in childish scrawl that is from the book the book�
the book the book liquor and pale cigarette smoke wreath us as we�
sit I feel the warmth of his thigh boots on the boards backs�
against the dark I watch his lips as he gulps from a brown glass�
bottle a long drawn tempo is being beat by Boneless who has been�
tripping since nine I can feel his eyes on me just like I can�
feel his thigh and knee pressing closer.


Squib nods as he passes -- hey John -- his eyes lower for a�
moment, his lips grow taut. The twilight of the high-ceilinged�
room begins to haze like waves of bone heat. A distant hand�
begins to knead muscles of his neck which constrict and relax�
like the coils of a snake. I can feel my patience grinding its�
teeth into my wrist, pushing that hand to move, to live. An�
orange stream begins in the pit of my stomach, absorbing outward,�
filling the empty in my bones. I float, ride, given over totally�
to its chilling softness. Only in flashes can I understand any�
truth presented to me.

It breaks sharply, suddenly; shearing off wobbling away --

\vskip\parskip
{\parskip=0pt
\centerline{you are sick.}
\centerline{you are lunatic.}
\centerline{you are criminal.}
}
\vskip\parskip

I hold him loosely in my arms. I finally understand.

{\it She wished she could stop sleeping.} The colony linkages�
were showing strain but sleep was becoming addictive; lovers in�
sixteen colony matrices had expressed their anxiety -- profits�
were dipping dangerously low. Catherine pulsed reassuring�
messages out to three especially jittery linkages, she soothed�
them, held them gentle and aware. {\it If that bastard Urban�
could just show a little spine for once.} The only fucking word�
he knew was {\it more}. More money, more relics, more�
mercenaries. She could hear her eyes shut, her fingers tearing�
the tangles in her long hair; there was no cause to be seen, they�
wanted nothing but her. It had gone far beyond cause, religious�
or otherwise. They just wanted her, to see her fall. {\it Vacuum�
and lips sucked lightly all over her flesh.} A light in the sky,�
a chuckle pulled thickly at her throat, where the hell do they�
get that drivel? Any fanaticism but my own is really sickening.�
She laughed this time her body jerking. The psychic love of�
Catherine roiled shrieking over known-space.

Cultra coughed and cleared his throat, slinking his fingers�
through his greased black hair, ``The light glows in a hard fine�
way tonight." He pressed the waxy flesh of his arm. ``It's�
ours.''

``I know.'' the boy said from the bed his hand coming down again�
and again on his tight bare stomach causing a flushed welt to�
appear. His glazed eyes did not look up.


Cultra removed the black stiff tunic of his party uniform,�
``Where are they?'' he said looking at the boy reclined upon the�
bed who then placed a small plastic pill bottle on his stomach�
over the welt.

Cultra removed his tough cloth pants and heavy mud-stained boots.�
``The light will enter upon us, free us you know. More than you�
ever imagined, more than you ever could imagine.'' Cultra�
straddled the boy on the bed and slowly removed his ripped,�
stained jeans.

The boy did not look at him, ``I love you,'' he whispered as he�
gulped the pills down one by one until they were gone.

``I know.'' Cultra mumbled, touching his chest gingerly, ``I�
won't hurt you.''

``I know.'' the boy said quietly.

Cultra made love to him until the boy's limbs grew stiff and�
cool, his muscles silent.

Cultra covered the body and left it. Left what little of himself�
remained in this world. The night sky outside was cold and clean,�
jet and adorned with fine points of white eyes.

All of them watched his as he walked the narrow street, his boots�
carrying him forward. He looked upward and caught the wind; she�
was out there somewhere, waiting to be entered by his icy vacuum,�
waiting for the beautiful kiss that only he alone could deliver.�
He pulled his long coat more tightly about him as the wind�
shouted his name.

\bye
