Județean Cluj


Director fondator: Mircea Arman, 2015

Director fondator revista pe suport material: Ioan Slavici, 1884

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Black Nine Cats



May 2023. Exeter.

Twelve p.m. The middle of a night. The pub is not far away from the high street.

Ginger Cat was walking on the streets. He smelled enormously the perfume of the city: meat, fish, rats, coffee, dust, dirty and sweetness of human bodies…

But his sense of smell was so deep and high that he felt the false dignity of the people’s soul in Exeter. He also had a very acute hearing. He had voices, hearing the most insignificant sound of the streets.

Ginger Cat run, run, and run after what he was seeing. His view was strong, capturig with his eyes any detail of life.

His smell, hearing, and eyes penetrated the meaning of the society, imagining an accurate picture of the city.

Yes, the story was in front of his eyes, on streets, Exeter streets: young people, men and women who harassed Ginger Cat.

And his voices with words.

The pub was like an island. The beer and wine were falling down along streets like River Exe.

Sally Stratford, an English woman, was walking around the pub with her daughter and their Labrador, a black dog. Their long and blond hairs were like yellow grass on a field under a wild wind from Siberia.

-Do you like a pint of beer? Asked the young lady. She was around 17 years old.

-Anytime. The beer and the wine are flowing through English veins.

That two women with very short skirts entranced in The Big Pig Pub, on St. John Street, not far away from the high street. They used to live in Exwick.

Laughings…Their tits were out from their blouse. Their ass, visible to anyone in the pub, shat winds.

Fugitive kissings in a second. And the pub was like an island. And rivers of beer and wine around pubs, pavements, places, areas, city.

On a wall in a room, it was hung up a picture of the poet Simon Armitage, kissing the King’s back and some lines of poetry, in a very anachronic style. And blue blood.

Sally Stratford from Exwick, a prohibited area in Exeter, drank one, two, four, nine, twelve and so on pints of beer. Her daughter the same

They became euphoric and so friendly.

-We are fucking Imperial…hahahah….I like a drink, an Imperial drink….I really like it. Said the daughter to her mother.

….young lady ( a man interfered in their talking). I like drinking and eating. Of course, fish and chips.

And he caressed her tits, even if he met her for the first time in that pub.

– It is a pleasure to brush my daughter. Said Sally. And she continued. Our society is developing friendships only in pubs and only at the drunkenness.

– You can fuck me, if you want! Yelled the young woman.

– Yep. It’s my pleasure…and he grabbed quickly an egg from his plate. The second one sprung on the pavement, dancing.

Types of these ‘profound words’ were flying over the streets in Exeter.

He caressed her thigh. And what kind of thigh! He kissed her lips. They were now in front of The Big Pig Pub.  He muzzled and kissed her mother too. The mother, the young lady, and the man kissed each other, changing their beer and wine from their tongue.

But stop!

The man started to see in the dancing egg of his plate, now on the street, a Devil.  A pretty old man with three eyes, a yellow jacket with white letters: STREET  PASTOR

– You, Devil, go, go…forgive me…

And the old man, the Devil or street pastor  – we do not know the truth, because in Exeter the truth is blocked in narrow minds without interpretations  –  started to expand like our universe.

The Devil’s eye was jumping out, trembling on the street. The eye of the Devil was purring along pavements. Then, the eye hopped over the buildings in the high street. And a devilish music was murmuring in the night.

         Sally Stratford and her daughter were floating in the smelling air. Their pussy being now on the way with a strong orgasm.

The Devil’s Eye leapt on the top of John Lewissesh, and then its elbow ejaculated green-yellow-red liquid on Sidwell Street, flourishing a lake in the middle of the city. And lotus. Thousands of lotus-flowers on the lake of Devil’s Eye. Now, Exeter became an island.

The words of Henry VIII sounded from Exeter Library against women:

A good hearing is when women become such clerks and a thing  much to my comfort to come in my old days to be thought by a woman!

         All men and women in Exeter were gliding in the air with the smell of urine and shit from the mess of the streets after Saturday night: papers, plastic, shit, urine, bottles, drinking, rest of fish and chips everywhere in the top of the night and ….seagulls nibbling.

Our man started to grab the lotus flowers.

– Don’t eat my flowers! Shouted the Devil. Or you will lose your mind. Don’t eat. It is my inner secret inside.

The women snatched the lotus -flowers from the man’s hands.

They were eating …

On the moon, full moon, nine black cats were dancing, singing a prayer of the drankers, mewing above Exeter Cathedral

Mew, Mew….

Prayer Mewing of Drunkers

the bluebirds are struggling in my  soul

I  was going to a pub

the eyes were coming out from my foot

the eyes were swollen

the soles were burning because of the drink

the green and weak hands were looking for

the silence, silence, silence,

after ten glasses of votka

I was starting to vomit – flowers, flowers

starting to see angles

I was going out of the pub

actually, I was kicked out

so, so drunk and innocent

And then I started  to pray:

Oh, my little, little angel

thank you, thank you for

all pubs where you

settled in the front of my eyes

because, because in your

kindness, your, your kindness

you understood me

and, and….please give me more drink!

And my prayer was listened to

and God settled around me pubs.

Amen, amen…I said

amen, amen my daily glasses of vodka.

After my profound prayer

I opened my eyes

and around me there were lots

lots of angels with glasses of vodka

my angels with vodka danced

in my mind, in my eyes, in my ears, and around me

thousands of angels who were serving me

Amen, Vodka ! Amen, Vodka!

Now I’m sleeping in a bin

with lots of angels around me…mew, mew


         Like in a holy adoration, Exeter island, with lotus-flowers, immortalized drunk men and women and their precious socialization.

Time was passing, and passing, and passing.

Instantaneously, Exeter’s men and women were transformed into pigs. Floating pigs in the air. Flying pigs. And the Island of Devil was petrified forever with lotus flowers, lotus flowers dug in the soul’s nothingness by black nine cats.

And voices, and an enormous sense of life, in Ginger Cat’s mind.

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