By Ivancho Jotata, known also as:
Ochnavi Atatoj, Ivan Bugarow, Jotabash Giaurgi, Nostradamus Buladamus, and other cloning names
[ The idea for illustration is in placing of one picture in a frame under the title and the author, which has to be square and probably 450 x 450 pixels (because I use usually 525 x 725 for the cover and then multiply by 3, when necessary); on the other hand here it can be even 350 x 450 because the text is a bit longer. The picture can be made as ink sketch in one colour with some small additions with other colours. The main colour can as well be black and in it is shown an open space or park, where on the left stays one person with a big bow for shooting, and he is small (say, 1/5th of the height), then in the middle there is nothing, some grass or shrubs, and on the right, fastened to a tree, is seen small circular target (say, 1/10th of the height), painted in three colours, which, going from the periphery, are white, green, and red (in the center). These colours have to fill the circular rings and to be exactly the mentioned, because this is our Bulgarian tricolour. Plus this there are also 2 bubbles where is written (rather typed, because so has to be easier), probably with red colour, the following: "Jotata, the lonely archer", which points to the person on the left, and "The difficult target, Bulgarian barbarity", which points to the target. ]
My dear (because of your small number) readers,
I have decided in principle to stop writing under this pseudonym, because this takes too much of my time, and I have already told all what I had to tell, I have proposed even a political party, yet there is no rule without exceptions, as you know, so that after the Muse quite unexpectedly visited me, exactly at minus / plus one week around our 24-th May 2019 [what is our Day of Slavonic Culture], I decided to squeeze out of myself (in the same way like I squeeze out something else when am with some girl) everything what I can for this short interval of time, and it turned out that these happened to be about 200 poetical lines. Yeah, but poetical or not, what are so few lines for me, I don't write materials shorter than 4-5 pages, so that I decided to sprinkle them with my philosophical judgements, which sometimes become so profound, that some of you may begin to think that I have gone crazy [what in Bulgarian is derivative from saying "cuckoo"], yet this is wrong conclusion (because I will never say "cuckoo" or "crow" or the like — if it will be so necessary to say something I will rather angrily cry: "Down with the democracy, long live the reason!", or something of the kind). Well, also to have a bit of fun, of course, for the simple reason that, when I have no money, then I am in my rights to want to have at least some fun out of this. Also I don't intend to translate this material in other languages (due to the poetry) [yet later I decided that I can retell the poetry and make this only in English], so that I took the decision to write it.
OK, let me begin then with the name of our nation, or rather with our little children. [Ah, and here begins to appear heap of jargon words, which I will explain more or less, but for the citing of Bulgarian words I will need to use one widely met vowel, which is like in your "girl", and which I will mark as 'y', and with single quotes I will give the reading; also 'j' will be used for softening of the consonants, while 'h' will be for hardening, and together with this 'j' will be used for making of diphthongs (like in may-'maj'), and 'h' for prolongation of vowels; plus that the usage of 'ch, sh, zh' must be obvious.]
[what is distorted from Bulgarian child in the way how some foreign people, say Chinese, pronounce it, and there exists such highly patriotic verse from our renaissance times, before about a century]
[Here follow 5 couplets by 4 lines, with the idea that I am so glad to be called Bulgarian child, how you would never believe, with really untranslatable jargons and distortions of words, where I rhyme Chinese with rabbit, the syllable 'blyg' with our wolf, then that I am so glad that as if run or fly, then that else I could have begun to curse my father for not being born myself Bulgarian because this is the ethnicity of high demand in the moment, then that there is no higher delight for me than to be called Bulgarian, and even the … bayram is nothing compared with the joy of being Bulgarian, and then in the sublime last couplet I declare that am ready to tell before everyone who wants to listen that I highly praise the … prick of my father (but leaving blank characters and guessing something silly, not naming it directly).]
Ah, as if there is noting to explain to you here, I am so glad that am Bulgarian (albeit pretty old) child, that there is nothing exceeding this my joy. Because the Chinese and the Arabs are now as if 5 %, plus at least 25 % Gypsies called Romas, and 30 % Turks called Bulgarians, what (together with some other minorities) reaches about 2/3 of our population, but in any case more than the half! Congratulations for our democratic eradication of Bulgarian essence, in the first scene of my material. For I would have accepted with pleasure some 15-20 % minorities, this enlivens the gene (this is known from immemorial times, to recall you the degeneration of some nations in the antiquity, especially amidst royal persons, because of what they marry where only they can, but far away from their court). Yet more than the half now means, that we have no rights to call us … Bulgaristan, but probably Turko-Tzigo-stan [or Turko-Gypsy-stan for you], ah, how like you this impromptu of mine? Well, it might be also Turkotzigonaria.
Again Jotata, and now already August 2019
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Сконвертировано и опубликовано на http://SamoLit.com/