What a nice day to be depressed

   There is something curiously soothing about listening to the same finnish folk song over and over and over again, in its most heart-wrenching execution by the most beautiful voice in the world almost crying and accompanied by plain acoustic guitar till you feel your own heart breaking apart (or whatever petrified remains of it still reside in your chest anyway). I could not have asked for anything better on a sunny, pleasantly cool spring day, where whatever grass and weeds grow from between cracks on the pavement and dog turds, and the flowers are in full bloom and you can't catch a breath from sneezing and you have become physically acquainted with every object on your half-block walk from the bus stop indoors as you are too blinded by flower sperm to see anything.

   What I am trying to say is, it is a wonderful spring day, as fine as any one could ask for, and enjoying a walk by the seashore drinking iced coffee and basking in the pleasant sunshine while the cool sea breeze pushes those annoying short strands of hair growing at the edges of your hairline right into your mouth as you try to suck on your coffee straw, and naturally, the mood is sweet and pleasant. So what could I listen to to go with my mood? An uplifting popsong? Or maybe full '80s rock glory? What about that really loud metal song that never fails to make you headbang, even in public?

   Nope. Let's listen to a slow, ballad rendition of a finnish folk song that is an emotional rollercoaster that only goes down, never up, just steeper and steeper down, and ends with the words "never will I forget her until the thorny rose blooms on a corner of my grave". Ah, perfect song to fit the mood.



   So let me get this straight. When you are depressed, heartbroken, suicidal, naturally you want to listen to depressing music. Cause what better to cheer you up than hearing someone with a much better voice than you singing about how meaningless life is and love dies and yaddayadda? Not a rhetorical question, it has an answer, and the answer is in agreement with the fact. There simply isn't anything better for depression that getting more depressed.
But when you are feeling happy, hopeful, content, then your go to music is depressing too? How does that work?

   I am tempted to answer my own question by pointing out that most always, all beautiful songs are sad (and seeking beauty is after all what humans instinctively do), so this is inevitable. Another part of me sheds a bloody tear and whispers that heartache is the most beautiful feeling of all. Excuse me while I go beat some sense into her.

   And then there is the cynic in me (who is the only one who knows what the fuck's going on) who says it is human nature to want to be miserable just so you can whine about it at any given chance.

   Because what enhances social bonds more than crying for no reason? (apparently it is not a valid reason to cry for longing for someone you have never met and in all possibility does not exist. Is it possible to be aching for someone you do not know if they exist or not?) 

The Sky Soldier

   Once upon a time, there was a Sky Soldier.

   He was tall and had dark hair, and his dark eyes could see all the way over the seas. He came from the country of the daybreak, and like all sky soldiers, he was an honorable, brave man, a strong warrior, learned philosopher, and gentleman.

   One day, the young sky soldier was flying over the great blue ocean towards the green lands of the sun. He was marveling at the blueness of the water, so perfect, like the finest silk of his country, when he saw something sparkling-

   Okay, maybe I need to clarify some things before I start my story.

   First of all, the Sky Soldier is not a he. Actually he is a She. And very much aware of it, as the uterus kindly reminds her every month and she fills in forms by clicking on "female" when choosing gender.

   Also, she is not tall at all. More like average. Okay a little bellow average. Fuck off.

   And the eye colour is up for debate. Not really that dark at all. Then again they are not light and bright either.

   Let's not even talk about where she came from.

   Okay the truth is...I am the Sky Soldier.

   Yes. It is true, indeed.

   And I cannot see all the way over the seas, if anything, I am a little short sighted.

   So now you ask, what is a Sky Soldier? Well, my darlings. Take a seat.

   (I suggest you are not under the influences of psychotropic drugs, alcohol, or any other mind-altering substances as I proceed with my explanation, because this rabbit hole has way too many detours and your guide is not reliable at all. Trust me, I know me all my life.)

   So, a Sky Soldier is the lovechild of a too-hot spring night, when allergies ran amok and the booze was plenty, and a mind exhibiting some very interesting after-effects of recreational drug use in days not so long past. To put it plainly, I was bored and my mp3 had ran out of battery and I decided to listen to one of the voices in my head as she whispered to me charming tales of who I could be if I was a story told by Antoine DeSaint-Exupery on acid. This one is the Sky Soldier, a mildly delusional fictional (or not, who's to say?) character that lives life as I do but has a completely different view of that every day shit. Whereas the rocker me only cares about telling people to fuck off and getting a fix of my favourite substance of choice (quadruple iced espresso these days), and the goth me likes to lock herself up inside and read books listening to music even I find disturbing, and the gypsy me argues with the rational me about what sort of disease am I going to catch if I walk around barefoot and then get into bed without showering, the Sky Soldier hovers around, having weird conversations with the Rabbit and the Prince about the meaning of life, why underwear is irrational, and anyway just think of this entry high on caffeine and possibly the neighbor's weed. God I love that neighbor and his habbit of smoking with the windows wide open.

   Each and every one of us has different stories to tell. You don't have to be sharing one delusional brain with many people in order to have different views on the same matter, or multiple hobbies and tastes that do not quite overlap, but rather, cancel each other. You could be a responsible, modestly dressed english tutor, whose trousers and buttoned up shirts serve to cover up permanent art etched on her skin by means of a mechanically driven needle. You could be a punk who can barely have a civil conversation with anyone who likes to embroider pillows whenever the time is available. Or you could be a bookworm who somehow moonlights as a rock musician in seedy pubs in that weird part of town that is always bursting with life and herpes. Or, in my case, you could be all those at the same time, thus earning your qualification as a Sky Soldier.

   I have the shortest attention span and I do not remember what I was going to say next.