A cold cutting wind, stirring dry snowflakes, tears the flag at the top of Karmelita. It's flying, it's flying white. Because you gave up. You bastard. You jerk. You are the poison in a drop. Cancer of Europe. Don't you understand? Do you have to go! Finally go! I can already hear the handcuffs clicking.
I'm staying. But you go. Go because you've got it. It's true, I don't swear anymore. No no Never. Plagiarism is also a thing of the past. Only my heart is sitting on the branch of nothingness. Because of you. Do you understand? Because you made a deal. You gave up your beliefs and principles, which you said were in the national interest, in order to get some money. And very little money. A little for me. And that's what you did. Verbalism here or there: you did it. Like ni, lowercase.
If you don't go on your own, we'll bother you. El. This is the national interest. That your government, which uses the reference to the national interest as a cover for incompetence and villainy, must be disturbed. Because you can't even limit properly. Hungarian chicken fart yes, Russian gas no? Rag man. Tahoe champion. These are my arguments.
And Ukraine? What if we were, huh? What would you think if a neighboring country attacked us? If he only needs a few counties? Or the whole thing. Would you fight or let it go? If there were an army of attackers at the Tisza line, Esztergom, Kaposvár, Győr, would you offer peace? Your peace would be the Trianon peace, in lower case. You would allow the mutilation, you would sign, you would humble yourself. Do you want this for the heroic Ukrainian people? This fate? I do not.
In October, when I wrote about Katus, Marci, the Nation, and Trianon, it occurred to me that parts of the country can be torn apart precisely because of historical realities, that the indigestible can be digested, and that which cannot be changed. How to look for the future and not have to mourn the past every day. But that was then. It's now and now. Now I can think of something else. Because Ukraine is also different. The Ukrainian people are resisting. Just like us in our best moments. That's why we admire them. Even if they are corrupt. If there is no press freedom. And the rule of law. And opposition. If they oppress national minorities. Or get killed. So what? This is a natural part of becoming a nation. Where they saw, the chips fall. King István also raised Koppány, and he did it well. He did it for his country. For the nation. In self-defense. For the United States of Europe. He already knew then.
Besides that, what is Ukraine's crime? According to the Russian president, there are. He wants to erase them. Your friend. The killer. Who drinks the blood of Ukrainian children. Who rapes Cossack secretaries on his marquetry table. You make excuses for this while blaming the victim. We will shame you. I'm already ashamed. We'll be a vile, lowly nation if it's up to you.
And here is the Brüsszelgate Cabbage Gate. Bring it to us. For the holiday. It's not Christmas - it's a holiday. Do you understand? This is what you gave to the Homeland. Shame! Because I saw what I saw. Listen: Szántód, near Kötcse, Spar store. Nice store, nice people, smiling salespeople. The customers are locals and winter holidaymakers for Christmas and New Year's Eve. They're like that, they're like that. They made a selection. A gray man with long hair, wearing a ponytail. He gave the impression of a kind of bohemian, a person from Pest. Shaving. He had a thin, characteristic face, with rather green eyes. He was standing next to the refrigerator. He was looking for sauerkraut, there were three different packages. Different producer, different price. He picked it up, looked at the price, put it back. He was looking at the following. No gesture. There should be another word here, but I'm still writing this. Gesture. An ordinary, emotionless face. Maybe. In the end, he didn't put any of them in his basket. He let go. There won't be any cabbage on your table these days.
And what is the Nation worth without cabbage? You did that too. You stole the country. You brought painful food inflation upon us. How much is forty if the wage is only fifteen? You let us down. Reality kills. The nothing. The unliveable life. Kuszahaza. It squeezes below, the starry sky above. The morning fog is hazy. You ruined us. We live the day, the year, nothing on price tags. Even pickles are expensive.
But I'm here. I'm staying. Clári will also stay. And the Shadow Government. Like that, in capital letters. Shadow. He who saves one life saves the whole world. And we DK people help those in trouble. For a moment. A moment. For a momentary feeling, to know that there is love on Earth, attention, compassion. And sauerkraut. There is that too. It will be.
We, here in DK, are looking for the answers to our country's big questions, we are doing our best to bring the country to light, in the meantime we understand the creaking reality of everyday life, the life squeezed between nothing and something. Great people make up the Democratic Coalition. Those who dare can act. Because a better age must come, will come. A more cabbage age. Where we can not only whisper. Every day. Will.
Maybe Vörösmarty and Kölcsey also wrote such. May. But they didn't think so. I think so. Me alone. And Klari. And a little bit everyone in Haza. Who is with us. But whoever is not with us is against us. So go your way, Ragman! Dirty. Historical Dwarf. And anyway. Go! Otherwise, I will never finish this fucking letter.
Ferenc Gyurcsány's posts published from autumn 2022 served as the source of the pamphlet.
Graphics: 2022plus
