Not to understand, no, you won't. But just for myself, for style practice, if you like. Or to those who understand - writes one of our brothers from abroad.
Well, I'm a little ashamed to admit that nothing. We didn't do anything to vote, nothing special. All we have preserved is what, in the opposite case, you would have lost long ago: our Hungarianness. Our Hungarian language and culture. In a hundred years, only the most persistent have not assimilated, people like you have long since. But we are still standing in the mud. We preserve for you the Székely kürtőskalács, the Korond ceramics, the double sunrise from Torockó, the varrottas from Kalotaszeg and the Mezőség dances. The hidden paths, the ancient words, the traditions, but I know that these mean nothing to your kind. You can't even interpret them. You only think in your little Gyurcsány world, you are locked between Hegyeshalom and Ártánd. You can't even imagine what happened and is happening in the annexed areas. What is natural and everyday for you, we fight a constant battle for. But despite all kinds of border extensions, annexations here and there, Benes decrees, land reforms, displacements and genocides, we still live as best we can. We will keep it, maybe even for you, as best we can. We keep something else, like prisoners keep old photographs. We whisper old words, the names of old princes, the names of decaying villages into the wind. And maybe we don't save them for the future anymore. But to the past.
You pay taxes to the Hungarian state, the current truncated state, with your money. We pay tribute with our lives and blood to something much bigger and nobler: the Hungarian Nation. Vitam et sanguinem. So, my dear left-wing friend, you who regret this half voting right from me: put your hands together and give thanks that you were born in free Hungary. And shame on you.
And yes, my dear liberal friend, yes, we are going to vote. Because if you don't need us, we need you."
A message to our traitorous left-liberals:
For us it's red-white-green, for them it's rainbow-colored. We have green and white, they don't even have a team. For us, the joy of scoring a goal, for them, the tantrum, if the Hungarians win. Transylvania for us, Romania for them. We listened to Free Europe at home, they listened to János Kádárt on May 1 at Felvonulás tér. We are proudly at home, they are humbly in London. Everywhere is good for us, but the best at home, they don't care. Order for us, decay for them. Our friends are farmers, soldiers, foresters, hunters, theirs are sociologists and full-time protesters. For us it's the Hungarian language, for them it's the Piss affectation. With us, the dog guards the house, with them it is a life partner. Faith for us, disbelief for them. Patriotism for us, treason for them.
According to Gergely Karácsony, the House of Hungarian Music was born in the spirit of "barbaric violence".
Well no.
It is barbaric violence that such Christmas-like, incapable of creating meaning and beauty, clueless, thin-minded, insidious little scumbags are poisoning Hungarian public life.
And the nation's capital is led by just such a doppelgänger... Mamma mia!
Enough of them!
On April 3rd, we'll get them back where they belong!
(pt)
MTI Photo: Balázs Mohai
