H Y P O C R I T E;

huh its all trashy down here proceed with caution

[lacheriedesole]

sur la plage—breezy beats accompanied by light vocal to complete the mood of island life.

i. escape, ouri; ii. hideout, parcels; iii. beat 54 (all good now), jungle; iv. bad dream, cannons; v. de parade, eefje de visser; vi. mermaid, stephan kerussel; vii. dysfunctional, kaytranada; viii. meditation, goldlink; +more

[mexisco]

The new Rodarte collection is stunningly gorgeous.

[lacheriedesole]

lost town

The announcement echoed loudly from the speaker on the wall. I blinked several times, hazy, unsure of where I am and what is going on. I realised that the train have stopped moving. The wagon that I’m in was nearly empty, hushed, except for an elderly couple walking out toward the left exit door. I gathered my conscience, relieved that I travel light―with only a small backpack―for a week I’m going to spend in this town. No, a town is an overstatement. This small region consists of a single area wide enough for a large family of three or four generations to live nearby.

I took out the crumpled map from the front compartment of the backpack, and studied it one more time. I have been memorising the map days before my travel, but I suggest a quick peek for a final shot won’t be much of a nuisance. This town―it will be much easier if I dress this area with the term―is so small and the borders blurry, the digital map on smartphones won’t be much of a help. Besides, the old map has scribbles and notes on it, a handiwork of my dad who have spent couple times here in his youth. I had no idea why, of all the interesting places and spots to choose for holidays, he chose this godforsaken spot.

The station is quiet and lifeless. Apparently, apart from the elderly couple, I was the only passenger that took off here. This is the last station before the train’s final journey, that explains why the wagon was deserted. There was no station workers, no taxi drivers, no merchants, nothing. The station looks exactly like an empty house that the train happened to stumble to drop off three lost passengers. Except that I am the only one who’s lost.

I recall the pathway to Mister Halcyon’s house, my supposed destination, and confidently marched on. Though the roads were perfectly tranquil, I do not want anyone to notice that I had never been here before and most likely to get lost. Mr. Halcyon is my dad’s senior of his earlier spiritual commune. They were really close, dad admitted that he looks up to Mr. Halcyon a lot, especially since a near-death occurrence that binds them close. Dad sees him as his saviour, long lost brother, almost like his own blood family. That must be why dad spent a lot of time here. This place must held a special meaning for him.

I was pretty sure I traced the right path, when I realised that each and every houses I passed are devoid of sound. It was a perfect silence, the one so loud that even my heartbeats sounded like an uproar. There were movements, of course, but aside from the blowing wind and swaying trees, there were no noticeable human sounds. No hustle bustle of everyday routine, no cries and screams of children, not even a whisper. Even the stinging sun has its own sound here. Well this is weird, I thought. I think I should wait until I get there, to his house, then I can make a judgement. I should hold.

Then I found his house. A serene-looking, medium house with subtle earth colour. Even the materials are natural, mostly woods and rough stones, unpolished. A very humble home. The house has no fence, just like any other houses in the town. The borders are immaculately trimmed berry bushes, or patches of hydrangea. This town sure is peaceful, huh? The people are definitely not concerned of thieves. I stepped on carefully set stones atop the lawn, which I assumed the only place I could set my feet on to. I knocked the door, the brass number plate shows 33 and a small carving reads HALCYON. 

I waited for a response, but there was none. I knocked again, louder this time, and I felt like a total idiot. My knocks sounded notoriously loud compared to the stillness wrapping the neighbourhood. I knocked again, still no response, but the door was slightly creaked and opened. I hesitated. It seems that no one was inside. “Hello? Mr. Halcyon? I am Sever’s daughter. My father sent me here. May I come in?” Still no response. My voice echoed faintly to the deep parts of the house. I felt it. “Mr. Halcyon, I am sorry if this is a bad time to visit. I will search for a stay-house nearby and visit you later.”

My brains must be playing tricks on me. I thought I heard a faint ringing of a bell from the inside, beckoning me in. I felt uneasy, turned my back as I made up my mind to leave. The door creaked. I turned to find a still empty house front, the doorway opened wider this time. I was perplexed. My mind was so numb and exhausted that I went in, hesitantly. It was middle of the noon, leaked sun rays illuminated the interiors. The lively living room was hushed, as the other parts of the house. This is peculiar. The house was empty, and yet I went in, barging in. Somehow, the bell rings sounded like an invitation.

I seated myself on the grey sofa, waiting. Anxiously, I opened the map, closed it, opened it again. I did not dare to count the time. I waited and waited for what feels like a day, and I realised that the noon had shifted to dusk. For all the time I was there, everything was still wrapped in the same thick silence. The first noise was on exactly 5 p.m., so sudden that I jumped on my seat. It was coming from the collective ringing and clanging of the clocks in the neighbourhood. Then the lamps switched on, followed by hum of machines turning on, faint television mutter, and glasses clinks. The noises were building up, and suddenly there were distant chatters of people. The first human noise. They were coming from the station.

I had cold sweats and shifted uncomfortably on my seat. I had a terrible feeling about this. Something feels wrong. How did this happen? My thoughts battled whether I have to stay or leave immediately. My brains singled the latter. I snatched my backpack, sneaked out of the house and closed the front door, carefully and soundlessly ran into the shadow of the house side. I crouched and waited.

I could not believe my eyes. The insights felt flurry, hazy, like something out of a dream. Or a nightmare. There were about a dozen men and women, all adults at working age, wearing suits and formal clothing, casually chatting. They seemed to come back from a faraway job. Their faces have feline features. No, they are totally and absolutely feline. The paws with its claws, the round eyes, the triangular ears, the whiskers. They walk completely upright, their tails swaying and lifting on their own. I held my breath.

The group dispersed at every house passed, it seems that every house belongs to one (cat)person. Finally a slim grey cat wearing black suit waved to the rest of the group, heading toward the house. Oh no no no no. I must’ve been dreaming. I must’ve been on the train. This can’t be real. It’s not happening. Right in front of the door, the grey cat turned to my direction, its sharp green eyes piercing the wall I hid behind.

“You must be the daughter of Sever. Come on in, you must be waiting for quite some time.”

Contrary to his sharp appearance, the voice sounds relaxed, friendly, with a hint of modesty. It was really strange. I can’t tell if it was really him who talked as I hid and obscured my whole body. My sweats soaked the back of my shirt.

“I understand it must be strange, scary even. But for you to be able to see us, you must have undergone something grand. Something like near death experiences.”

“Us?” My reply came out as a squeak. “Near death... experiences?”

“Yes. Us. Near death experiences. Please, I can explain your confusion inside. I can’t bear it if my neighbours are watching.”

I gathered what was left of my courage and stood up. I brushed the bottom of my shirt, and stepped into the light. I found myself standing face to face with a standing cat as tall as I am.

“There you are, come in, come in.” His face lighten up and oh well, he really talked. His whisker sways with every syllable, his smile faint.

I felt giddy as I followed him inside, and plunged myself into the same grey sofa.

“The bells let you in, right? I told them there will be a visitor today. That’s why the doors opened.” He explained as he hung his coat and stored his briefcase.

“I must be a poor housemaster, am I not? Let me introduce myself properly then. I am Halcyon, a close friend of your dad. Can you please send him my warm regards when you get back?”

I found it hard to find my voice back. “I will, Mr. Halcyon. And I, I, my name is Nasca. Nasca Sever. It’s been, uh, a pleasure to finally meet you.”

He laughed softly. I swear I heard the bells ring when he laughs. He opened a small fridge and took out two bottles of dewy cold water. “Please, call me Hal. I take it your dad has not explained you thoroughly. You must be really, really surprised. And thirsty. Here’s water. Do you need something to eat?”

“No, thank you. I am not hungry yet.”

He explained the situation in a simple, straightforward facts, as if it’s nothing out of the ordinary. The townspeople are cats, they are working with human only if the specific terms, specific time, and specific conditions are fulfilled. Apparently they have something to do with the state of mind, a mental point accessible to those with traumatic and threatening past that interfere their current state. Let’s say we’re mind healers. No, not really. But you can take it that way. He explained it with a plain bluntness. Supposedly that was how dad and Hal met.

As I sat there on a plump grey seat, dumbfounded, half-full water bottle in my backpack pocket, I wondered, How the hell did my father discover such a strange world?

[lacheriedesole]

before dusk

The horizon starts anew with streaks of orange, sky brushed with gold, faint glimmer of refractions mirrored on the water. I like it here, right in the exact moment, few minutes before the dusk begin. It was really quiet, deserted, most people and animals scurried back home, or heading somewhere new. Somewhere far from home.

I sat with my feet on the sand, folded, knees supporting my chin. I have a habbit of observing the world from afar, as if I were no longer part of it. As if I am looking on a bubble. Here, in the middle of deserted shore with fading sun, I can see things clearly than they do in the plain daylight. Ruminating on my scrambled thoughts, I tried to trace the threads one by one, painstakingly slow, meticulously dissected.

I look back to the beginning of the year, a distant time where someone with my body, my voice, my hair, live her life. She thinks she’s allright. She has close friends, she has family, she has dreams, she has talents. What could possibly gone wrong? You can not feel despair and alienation when everything’s perfect, right? Right? Wrong. Deep down, she shoved her voices away, ignores whatever gut instincts telling her something was off, and marches on. She thinks she was strong and prepared, ready for any obstacles that comes right in.

Things, just like people, are beyond her control. So when everything and everyone slipped, she breaks. She thought ones that she helped, ones that shares laughter and joy with her, will recognize this and reach out. She does not wish so far as to be helped, she just want to be listened. She wanted so bad for the people she used to know, to share hardships and shitty feelings and insecurities with her, even though it’s useless. At least, that way she could be not the only one to feel, the only one to give. That way, she and the ones will share mutual respect.

Strangely, when she thinks all of these over and over again, she does not shed a single tear. In fact, she does not even feel. It might be better, for her to shut things off than feeling, with pain in return. Now that she cut those strings around her, everything feels very different. It feels... so much lighter. She feels very disheartened, of course, but it only lasts for the first few months. If anything, a tiny budding sense of liberation grows, leaving her with a chance to shed her fears.

Now that she recalled those she let go, she whispered their names faintly, for one last time. With it, she breathed in forgiveness for herself.

[lacheriedesole]

death

death has a pair of wings

one for god’s people

and one for non-believers

its scythe shows no mercy

for death knows no obstacle,

indifferent

one day it came to a land

the land with thriving fields

swaying grass

and trampled sprouts

when death came,

kinfolk scattered

shrieked

‘O death, we just had spring’

death replied

‘nature gives, nature takes,

remittance for life and birth

is fall and mortal’

and so, death marched on

a senescent

for

the nascent

[lacheriedesole]

A personal spirit animal, the unnamed woman from Murakami’s story, Dancing Dwarf.

[lacheriedesole]

a serpent tale.

Once upon a time, a little snake visited a lush greenery near her den.

She saw a small group of bunnies with different coats; brown, white, red, black. They were hopping around a stack of stones, and they kept record of who jumps the farthest.

The little snake wanted to join them, but when the red bunny saw her, she screamed and took her friends away from her. The snakelet said 'hi, bunnies' and what is heard was a long, unfriendly hiss. The bunnies scattered away.

The snakelet moved toward the nearby pond. There was another group of frogs and ducklings surrounding the pond, she said hi again, and the frogs jumped far away, fleeing from what they have known as a deadly predator. Through their hurried jumps, the snakelet heard the biggest frog shouted 'beware the deadly serpent! Scurry away or you'll be eaten!'

She strolled into the edge of the pond. There stood a tiny duckling, separated from the escaping flock. The snakelet approached the duckling, she tried to smile and said hi again. She could sense the duckling was terribly shaking, but she tried to be friendly anyway. Being aware that she has no hands and feet to reach the duckling, she moved her head to reach its small yellow wings. Unaware of her extended fangs, she accidentally bit the duckling's left wing, the venom made it limp and dead.

The little snakelet is all alone now.

She didn't understand. All she ever wanted was to make friends. And yet, everyone she approached are scared. The one she touched are hurt.

Left alone in the woods, she thought for a very long time.

For when the time comes, the little snakelet have accepted the fact that she is, indeed, dangerous. She have accepted that she is venomous and deadly for others around her.

She had fully accepted the facts, when she grows up to be the ravishing, lethal serpent she was born to be.

[lacheriedesole]

Epicrates cenchria

I just realized that I got a superpower.

It’s not helpful, nor heroic.

My superpower is hurting people.

People that deserve it, and people who don’t.

People that might care and are just plain good.

I realized that we cannot choose who we’re born as.

I don’t choose to be born as a human.

I might be reborn one day after my death, as a serpent. Or not.

Why serpent? Because that’s who i am.

Serpents are not necessarily bad, they’re just perceived, in general, as a dangerous creature.

They bite to defend themselves, and yet people are terrified.

I am a serpent. Whoever comes close, ends up hurt.

I am a serpent. The poison in my veins are bleeding into the person interacting with me.

I am a serpent. They think i’m all cool and preserved. Truth is, i’m bitter and in denial of my hopes.

I am a creature of nightmare, and trust me, you don’t want to linger.

[lacheriedesole]

Let us play what-ifs.

What if I did not gather my courage to take the lab test?

What if I did not feel extremely exhausted then?

What if the rash appeared in front of no one, and I didn't even realize it?

What if I survive into 25 and I'll do allright?

What if I don't?

I can see it. The hereafter, with the absence of me.

My sister, i her early twenties, radiant as ever. Sometimes she will look into her gifts, the ones from me, and feel a pang of loss.

My mom, in her fifties, hair turning gray, yet graceful and as wise as ever. She will look into the pictures, the ones with me, and burst into tears.

My dad, in his sixties, body shrunk and hair completely gray, as he realized that he has another daughter. The dead one. The older one. The financial drain. The emotional pain. Yet she is the one that was completing her study. He will watch the regular animal documentaries and not sure who he will talk to, about the running lion, the scratching bears, the flying sky beasts.

My close friends, now living in different states, with different jobs, doing very great that they will get promotion in the next month. All of them has found their One, their other half, their partner that will treat them just right. Their life might not be picture perfect, but they feel content anyway. Sometimes they will see random mint-colored things, my signature color, and they will feel different things. Some will feel angry, some will feel blue, and some will feel nothing at all.

And I will be there, vanished and non-existent in the world we currently live in, yet contained in their memories. Your memories.

[lacheriedesole]

blizzard

the rain is raging outside

as if

it screams

" I will wash your land,

I will drown the dusts

that made up your memories

I will nourish the ground

let it has another life

you don't deserve

I will dim the light

vanishing the divide

between day and night

I will rage and carry on

let the water drops

fill your lungs

and

drift your thoughts

I will call the thunder

together we will compose

a perfect storm

to haunt your night away "

[lacheriedesole]

current living purposes :

to be a useful living being

to be able to coexist harmoniously

to be able to use this life as the one that matters

to leave beautiful, good traces for the next living beings

to understand the complexities of life and nature

to connect with those who really needs my help

to be able to leave the world with no burdens behind, no negativity, no harm done

My thoughts about the afterlife is that it's a form of coping mechanism, because living human realize that life, afterall, does have an end. It's still a mystery though. I might be dead and found myself on the brink of heaven and hell. I might be dead and found myself reborn, with a different identity in a different family on a different state, having another chance to begin a new life all over again. I might be dead and found myself present as an element of nature, a form of energy, mending with the existing life. Or I might be dead, and found myself simply gone. Vanished. Nonexistent. Having no chance for reincarnation or another form of existence. Who knows?

The important thing is that I have to be able to reassure myself, that this life I'm having, the state I'm living, must be the best I can have. I have to make my existence matters, something that will help thousands of other lives, something that brings kindness and positivity into this world.

Dear two-decade-old me, you're doing fine. Next year, no matter how much more you will have, you will do great.

[lacheriedesole]

crowds

the stream of people

flowing toward places

hustle

bustle

endless

restless

barbaric

euphoric

as if they were driven

by invisible force

that keeps them moving

shuffling feet

into a particular

destination

how i wonder

if i will ever

be

a part of them

image source: emeandmich

[lacheriedesole]

canis lupus

the rash first appear when i was nineteen

the exhaustion resides

no matter how much i sleep

it’s still there

sunken on my muscles

seeping through my bones

the sun is supposed to charm me

not to torture me

the cold is supposed to calm me

not to numb me

the culprit was there all along

morphing at anything that conceals

image source: weheartit

[lacheriedesole]

hi! where is your theme from? i cant find a link or anything

hello there! the aesthetic theme is created by Interlude. Or you can simply click the bottom right of my site, enjoy!

[lacheriedesole]

dear gullible creature,

how are you holding up?

is the world still being cruel to you?

do human beings still beat you up?

does the weather still challenge you?

once in a while,

you are wandering

seeking

for sanctuary

a tiny spot 

to feel safe for

and if 

you are lucky,

maybe 

some crumbs 

to go on

yet you’ve got

those

nasty scars,

wound still fresh

of hatred

and despise

poor little thing,

if only

you’ve found us

you won’t be there

crumpled,

on the backyard

next to the box

while the world

slowly fades,

and

your living shell,

slightly warm,

steadily gone cold.

image source: art-nimals

[lacheriedesole]

witches anthem—haunting vocals flowing with bold instrumental, there’s nothing more mesmerizing than singing witches under the moonlight.

i. top of the world, kimbra; ii. art deco, lana del rey; iii. fuck with myself, banks; iv. human, sevdaliza; v. bad blood, nao; vi. ache, fka twigs; vii. gasoline, halsey; viii. balance in all, anna wise; ix. wayfaring stranger, alextbh; +more

[lacheriedesole]

RJSJJAJSJ YOUR 80'S PLAYLIST IS THE BEST THING EVER I LOVE IT THANKSSSS

aww thankies ✨🌚 you ought to know how marvelous it is to receive a message like this. it feels really good to find another person with similar music taste 🖤 anyway have a good day!!