Seeing the homeland as an "empty place" is just a drop in the ocean. Written by Zsolt Bayer.
"Look, the first philosopher has appeared! / A great line will come after you, my fair sister, / Which will dispute this again in a million ways; / Many of the people stray into madness, / Many retreat, none of them are worth it.”
This is how Lucifer speaks to Éva, with no small amount of cynicism, in the second act of the Tragedy. And now, here, we can all see that we have reached the end of the "big line", where our inwardly shriveled little "wise men" are standing, outbidding each other by saying nothing, pushing the pink, plastic postmen under each other's seats, and yelling at each other from there, into into the void. Anyway, their whole personality is focused there, in their seat.
They have only one thing to say, that Hungarians are junk, disgusting, worth nothing - etc., etc. These tiny, characterless dwarves have been gurgling this since 1919, since the fall of the Rat Rebellion, when the first wave of them fled to Vienna, and from there they started to do the same thing, like a spotted hyena afraid of the remains of a zebra stolen from a lion.
One of my favorites is a certain Kata Karáth, who already explained in 2018, with an extremely "exciting" Hungarian accent, that she is: "In recent years, my Hungarianness has transformed itself into a kind of ugly skin disease, which I am confusedly trying to scratch off". Poor little Kata: Maybe when she finally takes a bath, this whole depressing feeling will go away, not to mention the smell. I recommend Karinthy's masterpiece for her consideration: "Poor, heavy, ugly feet sometimes / I turn to you in horror / If you wake me up one night / And when I sleep: you would bathe me."
Although Kata obviously doesn't read Karinthy, because of Frigyesun's Hungarianness, as this little hamster also explained in the same place that "I vowed that I would never have a Hungarian partner and I would never settle in my native land."
Ouch! Big trouble! After all, we hear nothing more these days than "love is love" and "love is free" - that is, if you want to fall in love with an iguana, another hamster, or a beautiful, fresh dead person, I would celebrate your great freedom. But if into a Hungarian guy? That would be unforgivable. This also shows how lucky it is that it will never settle here.
And then I would now skip the rest, from Esztike Herskovits to Judith Csáki to Árpád W. Tóta and Zsolt Nagy, and I would settle for a moment with a certain Imre Para-Kovács. This Imre explained the following the other day: "We always say that we want it to be a normal country. But it will never be normal. I would like to tell the dear listeners that there were countries on this earth and there were empty places. Because nobody needed it, it wasn't a good place. And then people came in here and said that we are also a country. And then the real countries said it was fine, of course.
If I understand correctly, which is not certain, since it is hardly possible to dive into the depths of the cesspool where it lives with one breath, but if you do, then what we are talking about here is that Hungary is not even a country, just an "empty place", since it has never nobody needed it.
Well, at least it's finally something! This is finally the perfect denial of everything that is indisputable to the majority nation as fact, consciousness, feeling, tradition, and holiness.
“[…] The heroes / Árpád’s armies fought here; / Here they broke the rabiga / Their arms hunker down. Freedom! here they carry / Your bloody flags, / And our best ones die / During the long battle.”
This became the para in the universe of the little worm, where Home turned into an "empty place". At this, even Szondi looked down from the blood-soaked stage of his death and asked: who is that slob over there, on the urine-soaked stage?
Yes, that's just Imre Para-Kovács. He just got home...
