It’s a song! Thing. Yeah. Anyhow, this is for @world-builder and was originally inspired by @kerbabbles Musical Falls AU. It’s a really rough draft, and it’s just me singing a capella (I need to learn how to orchestrate things), but I had fun with it. I thought it would be fun if, early on the hypothetical musical, one of the kids asked Stan why he’s a conman and if Stan responded with a 100% in character, extremely cynical lie (Cuz people are dumb and ya can make money off of dumb people, kid. Now stop asking). In song form.
Requested Marcus Flint x Oliver Wood Marcus doesn’t quite know who he is, after the war, only knows that he can’t stand who he is. He’d done the wrong things, chosen the wrong side, made more mistakes then he can manage to count. He/his life is the shattered shards of a mirror he’d put his fist to. Until, that is, an old rival/ captain/ obsession makes an offer that he can’t quite refuse.
Marcus Flint remembers Hogwarts. Remembers the cool, ethereal green walls in the Slytherin dungeon; remembers how the scabs on his knuckles had looked bent around the edge of a broomstick; remembers crooked tooth leers and secret to keep.
He doesn’t quite remember what that secret was, is the thing.
Because he also remembers his father with a mark stamped onto his arm; remembers a chipped black mask hanging from the wall in the living room; remembers the word Azkaban sounding like a death sentence, an inevitability, something that would swallow them both.
Marcus Flint remembers Oliver Wood like a glue sticky memory in the faded out edges of his peripheral. Remembers the silent agreement between them to never tell as they stole out to the pitch at night, flew with nowhere to go amongst the constellations and the sky. Flint had never asked why Wood was out there, but he remembers aggression wound tight in his gut as he prevaricated, lied, pushed his way past Wood in the hall.
Marcus remembers a captain, a rival, an obsession.
Ja imam stotinu lica.
Kako mi se hoće.
Oblačim ih zavisno od oblačnih i sunčanih dana…
Kako mi se ćefne.
Može mi se.
U meni su se sakrile sve tvoje čežnje,
tvoji neostvareni snovi…
Čini ti se ako pružiš ruku,
tu sam… na dohvat ruke.
Samo ako dovoljno jako poželiš,
možes me dodirnuti, osetiti…tako ti se čini.
Da, samo ti se čini.
Varke su čudne igračkice,zamagle ti vid
i učine da ti se zavrti u glavi kao kada siđeš sa ringišpila.
Sujeta je poput opijuma koji ti zamrzne misli,
i kada se probudiš shvatiš da se ceo jedan svet oko tebe,
srušio kao kula od karata koju si gradio…
Jer ja imam stotinu lica… takva sam.
Sa loše podeljenim kartama,
sa kojima ceo život blefiram.
Sa licem deteta, pajaca, zavodnice,..
sa blentavim osmehom, izrazom velike tuge…
ja sam i snažna i slaba, i svetica i grešnica,
često ispadnem najgora.
Moje je srce postalo stena,
okamenilo nakon nataloženih suza.
Ja sam najveća dvorska luda,
ja sam mali ludi vrabac,
zeleni žabac koji pije sokić na uglu,
u starim pocepanim starkama,
jer hoće mi se tako…
A kad poželim, nisam više žabac kad prodjem ulicom,
onako kako ja umem, sa stavom
i najvišim potpeticama.
Zakoračim tamo gde svaki žamor zamre,
gde drugi počinju da krekeću,
gde se ostale pretvore u ovčice koje bleje,
nebitne i male… pokraj mene.
Jer eto, može mi se tako.
Svoju sudbinu nosim kao prokletstvo,
da povredim svakoga ko se drzne da me zavoli,
da me poželi samo za sebe…
Moji su dani godine, ja nemam zemaljske snove,
ja u ovoj dimenziji odavno nisam…
Brzo mi dosadi.
Brzo se zasitim.
Gore mi cipele, zovu me daljine.
Ubija me navika, guše me tuđa očekivanja.
Ne mogu da se skrasim.
Ja sam ona koja se ne zaboravlja.
Tu sam da ti prstom naslikam osmeh na licu,
da ti ojačam krila za let…da te učim kako se vozi bicikl,
i kad osetiš vetar na licu, kad osetiš točak kako teraš… okreneš se…i nema me više.
Voziš sam na krilima zmaja… kao pravi veliki dečak.
Da možeš sve ispočetka…da li bi se usudio?
Drznuo? Imao herca? Da li bi ikada više tako blesavo,dečački…samo srcem?
Ili bi zastao…samo me okrznuo ramenom dok se mimoilazimo…u prolazu?
Tad bi mogao da odeš, da se okreneš,
da mi ni ime nikada ne zapamtiš. Nikada da se ne osvrneš.
Žena koje nema.
Sa ono malo duše koju nosi kao prokletstvo,
žigosana od rodjenja da bude drugačija,
da je ceo život gledaju kao sedmo svetsko čudo.
I traže kvar!!!
A sve je tako jednostavno.
Tako jednostavno i prosto u svojoj komplikovanosti.
Kockice su rasute po stolu…složiti mozaik.
Da li sam samo vešti prevarant,koji ume da se podvuče pod kožu;
ona na koju su vas majke ceo život upozoravale;
ona kojoj se može…ona koja ne traži i ne pita…nikada?
Ona koja uvek mora da ode?
Drugačija. Sama. Svoja…?
Ona kojoj je “Glad beskrajna a ruke večno prazne” …?
Ili sam samo privatni pajac za osmehe?
Remorker koji ceo zivot vuče velike brodove na pučinu?
Ludi vrabac koji udara glavom u zidove…?
Samo uplašena devojčica ispod svih maski kojima skrivam lice?
Štitim se od onih koji čekaju ispod žice na kojoj koračam u haljini cirkuske jahačice da se spotaknem.
Ona koja po žici hoda zatvorenih očiju….
Da li bi za takvu stavio jabuku na glavu…kao metu…i dao joj oružje u ruke?
Sure, Bush and the neocons lied us into the Iraq War. But you know what? ...
We wanted them to. We BEGGED them to. America went to war with Iraq because Americans bought Bush’s BS. Never forget that fact – and never let anyone off the hook with the phrase, “they lied.”
See, there were voices critical of the war BEFORE it was fought. (Mine was one, but I am a minor academic at a mid-level state school, so therefore I don’t count among the SERIOUSLY SMART PEOPLE who get on talk shows and opine in the pages of the New York Times.) Lots of people – we used to call them experts – knew about life on the ground in Iraq, and the need for nation-building, and the requirements of democracy, and the actual non-commitment of the United States to ANY of these things, and, on the basis of this knowledge (a suspect word these days, admittedly), recommended against the war. The problem was too big and the American effort was too small to end up with anything less than disaster.
But you know what happened to these voices? They got drowned out – and not just by the VERY SERIOUS PEOPLE who all agreed that it was invade-Iraq-or-global terrorist mushroom clouds. Lots of ordinary Americans let their nationalist, xenophobic freak flags fly and attacked anyone who had the temerity to suggest that killing Iraqis was not actually a very good idea. The most insane of these people insisted that to NOT want to kill Iraqis was somehow or another to NOT “support our troops” – since everyone knows all troops want to do is go kill foreigners. (Many of these people are of course now upset we don’t “Support Our Troops” in VA services … that they refuse to pay for in, what do they call it? … oh, yeah: taxes.)
The “Bush lied” statement is true. It’s just not the point. Politicians lie, prevaricate, manipulate, distort: they do politics to get what they want. This is why we call them “politicians,” not “paragons of truth.”
It is our job as democratic citizens to figure out when we’re being lied to and then restrain our political leaders. We failed in Iraq. We enabled. We celebrated. We cackled about shoving boots up enemy asses. But now, after all this, we think we were lied to and that the lies we sprang to salute and defend somehow gets us off the hook for the Iraq disaster.
We did it, people. It’s not Bush’s and the neocons’ fault – or at least it’s not only their fault. It’s all of our faults. And we better remember that before we do something so monumentally stupid ever again.
Donald Trump has made his political bones so far by being a bully and a liar. Ted Cruz is a bully and a liar. Jeb Bush is petty and a liar, but he lies with establishment gentility, so we should say that he prevaricates. Marco Rubio is whatever punchcard of antagonistic hogwash was fed into his slot from his days as a Florida political protege. Ben Carson, well … Let’s not wake him. He looks so peaceful.