I have cookies (but only if you join ASM and kick PTOers out of here) ;P
yst31
Hi there good people,this one will be brief
😉.After 7 months in Canada and 3 days in Ukraine(sorry for not staying more
🙁),I wanted to return home,I never know how much I'll stay or if even one day I decide to leave erep.But while I'm here,I want to see the ASM an Austria leading this PTOers out,after so many months the key word can be "dialogue" and I'll be always open to listen anybody from any party and I think right now that's the position to follow if we want to survive.
About Me:
I've spent interesting months in Canada,It's always nice to see a party of 15 members becming the 2nd biggest one in a medium size country as Canada,I've been congress member there too,and failed to run for CP
😉.Also,I've meet really "powerful" people that make this PTOers look like a little child xD if you allow me to compare,and I was called a PTOer too(life is curious sometimes).Now in Austria,I want to take it easy but also work to built and continue with this community.I feel a bit "old" and "tired",but will tryto do my best to help our country
😃
Hi to everybody and see you on the feed and IRC when possible
🙂
Thanks for reading.
yst31
Comments
nice. welcome back 🙂
muhaha 😃
So,...do you like...stuff?
e nek si vise doso dosadno bez tebe
dahoam is dahoam.
Welcome back home. ; )
welcome back \o/
welcome back 😉
The sun shrivels up the sparse alkali flats,
parched herds of grasshoppers are grazing about -
not a new blade in all the stubble, not a handbreadth
of green in all the broad meadows. A dozen laborers
or so are snoring under the stacks - all their work
is going fine, but the big haywagons loiter there,
empty or only half loaded with hay.
A lanky sweep dandles its skinny neck into the well
and spies for water - imagine a giant gnat sucking
the blood of old earth. Thirsty oxen mill around
the trough, making war on an army of flies. But
lazybone Lackó hangs on the hands, and who's to scoop
the water up?
As far as the eye can see on bleak earth and sky,
one workman alone is on his feet. A whopping side-
rail sways on his brawny shoulder lightly, and still
not a trace of beard on his chin. He stares far,
far down the road as though to depart this village
and land for other fields. A live warning, you
would have thought him, planted at the crossroad
on a shallow hill.
Dear little brother, why stand in the blazing sun?
Look, others are snoring under the hay. The kuvasz,
too, is lolling there, his tongue dangling out, not
for all the world would he go a-mousing. Or have you
never seen a whirlwind like this? It kicks up the
dust for a fight, licks the road at breakneck speed,
a smoke-stack belching on the run.
But no, he does not care how it sifts the road
from end to end - through a tower of dust erected
by the wind, proud weapons glitter, proud troops
ascend A cloud of sighs rises from his heart like
those hazy troops. And bending forward, he stares
and stares as though heart and soul were fixed
in his eyes.
"Neat Hungarian cavaliers, shining knights! How beat
and bitter am I to see you. Where are you bound? How
far? Into battle? To gather flowers for a wreath of
glory? Are you riding against Tatars, Turks? To bid
them good night forever? Ah, if I too, I too were
only riding. Neat Hungarian cavaliers, shining knights!"
These were the thoughts that furrowed into Miklós
Toldi's soul. His head churned, and his heart was
wrung with sadness because he too was the son of a
knight. György, his false brother, was reared as
a companion of the royal heir. He lives it up in
the royal court while Miklós mows and rakes with
the hired hands.
Here they come, the mounted men of the Palatine
Laczfi, and at the head of his proud troops Endre
Laczfi himself. He sits with martial bearing on
his fallow horse, braids of gold on his robe. In
his train dashing young men ride in fancy saddles
on stamping stallions. Miklós stares and stares,
not knowing his eyes are sore for staring so hard.
"Hey peasant, where's the road to Buda?" Laczfi
asks disdainful and cold. The word cut to Toldi's
heart, which jumped so hard you could hear it.
"Hm, me a peasant!" he fumes. "Well, who but me
is lord of this village and land? Maybe György
Toldi, my foxy brother, setting dishes at the
court for King Louis?"
"Me a peasant, me?" With that he brought down a
terrible curse on György Toldi's head. And then
he lightly twirls the pole, grabbing one end like
a little stick. With a single hand he raises it up
long and straight, pointing out the road that trails
toward Buda. Arm hardening into iron, and himself,
he extends the rough-hewn timber straight as a rod.
When they behold Toldi with the long pole, the
Palatine and all his troops look on astounded. "This
is a man in his own right, whoever he is," speaks
Laczfi. "Who will take him on, boys? Or who will
point like that the sorry faggot this boy is using
to show the road?" What a comedown, what a shame.
They mutter and bluster, but who dares to match
a peasant boy!
Who would ever enter the list with a thunderstorm,
the wild and windy gloom? And who would joust with
the fiery wrath of God, the flashing and sizzling
shaft of God? Pick a fight with Toldi if you long
for God's dear kingdom. And what a fate awaits
whoever falls into his hands, wailing himself back
into his dead mother's arms.
They pass by in long closed lines. The whole army
is talking about Toldi. Everyone has a good, kind
word for him; everyone turns him a smiling face.
One says - "Friend, why don't you join up for the
battle? Young men like you have a high price there,
believe you me." Another says in pity - "Too bad
your father was a peasant and you, dear brother,
are too."
The army passes, echoes die - one enveloped in
dust the other lofted on the wind. Toldi shambles
homeward, deep in melancholy. The range trembles
under his heavy footsteps into the far distance.
His walk is a sullen bull's, his eyes the brown
midnight. In his mad rage he blows like a wounded
boar, the rail almost crumpling in his iron hands.
Bone in a chicken, relatives in a man: A ship-load of fish gets spoiled, because of 1 spoiled fish. 🙁 There is no ruby in every mountain. There is no pearl in every elephant. There is no sandal-wood in every forest. There is no sage in every place.
😃
Who care a robber ecandian PTO-er opinion?
Meow-Meow-Meow
It is a northcanadian-ukrainian dialect?
Interest.
Miau-Miau-Miau
grrrrrrrrr
You.Don't TO my comments ;P
To macko
Comment deleted
Comment deleted
Normally in the present tense we add S to the end of the verb in the 3rd person (He, She, It).
Verb | 3rd Person
Speak | Speaks
Play | Plays
Give | Gives
Make | Makes
eheslo writes only bullshit articles.
Hermione thinks eheslo should get a life.
My keyboard hates eheslo.
yst31, many things have changed since you left... you now have to speak hungarian / mainly serbian so that most people in austria can understand you. so do eheslo a favor and learn some! 😛
Egy kicsit nehezen jött össze neked ez a nyelvtannáci baromságod komancs, de végül sikerült.
Gratulálok, nagyjából ennyire vagy képes két feljelentés között.
finally, back to your language. i prefer hungarian, so nobody here has to decode your "so-called" english bullshit.
Szemben veled képes vagyok több idegen nyelven is kommunikálni.
Ez jelentős különbség, még ha nyelvtanilag nem is tökéletes ez a kommunikációm.
De neked ez (sem) megy szerencsétlen komancs.
Én értem amit írsz németül ,angolul és válaszolni is tudok rá, neked meg fogalmad nincs az anyanyelvemről.
lol, dea voipfostn schreibt do ernsthoft no zruck xD
Keep dreaming of a big Hungary. It will never happen. Nationalist sc**bag.
Yeaahh, one canadian yeti comes to us!
Welcome back! 🙂
welcome back 🙂