❝ tag dump —

❝ a girl is an abyss — inspiration.

❝ finding clarity in kerosene — musings.

❝ i am standing upright but my shadow is crooked — photographs.

❝ inbox.

❝ interaction.

❝ group task.

❝ event.

❝ social media.

❝ aesthetic.

❝ closed starter.

❝ open starter.

❝ headcanon.

❝ playlist.

❝ quote here  — name here.

❝ tag dump —

❝ a girl is an abyss — inspiration.

❝ finding clarity in kerosene — musings.

❝ you’re a whole solar system pretending to be a person — photographs.

❝ my heart and mind are not on the same page — inbox.

❝ interaction.

❝ group task.

❝ event.

❝ social media.

❝ aesthetic.

❝ closed starter.

❝ open starter.

❝ headcanon.

❝ playlist.

❝ quote here  — name here.

(Whoopsie more Eli Bouchard stuff before work)

“Talk to him.” Jon says to Martin in the hall outside the archives, gesturing to the figure sitting inside the statement room. “He doesn’t know who to turn to and I can’t help him.” Martin gazes inside the archives and sees the figure of Eli Bouchard sitting in a chair against the statement table, his head resting in his hand, cradling himself as if he were suffering a migraine. A man who once exuded such confidence and charm was left crumbling and collapsing under his own weight of existing as a person.  “I don’t know if I can help him, Jon. This isn’t really my area of, er, expertise.” Martin muses quietly, his voice strained and wavering. Truthfully speaking, he was still finding it difficult to see this man as anything but the monster of a human (?) that forced him to face his own insecurities. Sure, Eli Bouchard’s voice didn’t have the same level of smarmy wit that Jonah had trilled along with, but his voice still carried enough of the same weight. There was no risk of Eli creeping into his head and forcing Martin to experiencing the same thing again. “Listen to me, Martin,” Jon replies, nearly pleading, his hands on Martin’s shoulders. He is not gripping, but he is squeezing just enough to reassure his boyfriend (is what they were now? They still had yet to talk about what kind of relationship they had now. Not that Jon was opposed to the idea or anything. He quite liked it.). “That man is alone. And he needs to talk to someone who knows how it feels to be truly alone. And you know that better than anyone.”

And so Martin entered.  And perhaps it was because he entered that he could feel the weight of being alone that surrounded Eli Bouchard. It was by no means the effect of the Lonely on him. Just a lonely man. There was no entity at play keeping Eli this way. He just didn’t have anyone who understood what he was experiencing. “Elias, er, Eli.” Martin speaks softly as he enters the statement room, his hand resting on the doorway. The lights are turned down low and Eli doesn’t look up, although his body shifts in just enough of a way to indicate he had heard someone come in. Martin stands in silence. Jon never specified what exactly he should talk to Eli about, so he had to read the room -- which was not exactly as easy as it was when Jonah was inside the man in front of him. Jonah you could rile up and get upset in the most obvious ways. Raise a little hell. Burn a few statements. Get him arrested. The easy things. But Eli was very different from Elias. It had been as if since becoming himself again, he went out of his way to avoid everyone. With good reason. Aside for those who knew the truth, it was much easier to hide the reality of things. “The Lonely doesn’t have me, Martin, if that’s what you’re concerned about.” Eli speaks up as he lifts his head from his palms. “And no, Jon wouldn’t know what to talk to me about either. That’s why he sent you, isn’t it? Because he thought you might know how to help a poor old man like me.” Martin’s lips purse. He doesn’t make a move to sit down, but he doesn’t exactly respond to Eli’s quip. He sounds argumentative and itching for some sort of fight. Which is not what Martin was here for. He pinches the bridge of his nose and finds himself letting his shoulders droop. “No, maybe it doesn’t, but that’s no excuse to keep yourself moping and avoiding people like you’re beyond being helped. You��ve already gone to Jon to talk enough times that you’re actively avoiding letting yourself be consumed by your solitude. So instead of moaning at me like you’re a lost cause, why don’t you just talk to me?”

“And just what will that do for me? Are you going to absorb my trauma and wring it out in the sink, and there we have it, no more depressed Eli Bouchard.” He sneers, his aging face actually showing his age for once. He was not lying about being a poor old man. He was getting older, and something suggested to Martin that he was actually much older than he appeared to be. Perhaps Jonah using him slowed his aging? Made him appear younger than he really was. Maybe without Jonah inside him, his age was catching up faster. “That wasn’t my intention.” Martin confirms as he finally enters the room properly, standing before the other chair, his hands grasping at the back of the seat. “But it’s not like you can speak to an actual therapist about this. What are you supposed to say? ‘Oh Doctor, you see I’ve had the spirit of a two-hundred year old demi-human inside me, using me as a vessel to initiate a ritual that will allow the essence of the fear of being watched to take control of the world, and I’ve only just gotten my body back and I don’t know how to live again.’ Yes, because that surely won’t get you any pity. They’ll just assume you’ve lost your mind and you’ll just wind up as a prisoner of a different variety.”

Eli stares up at Martin, something of absolute disdain and horror, mixed with humor crossed over the age lines of his face. Jon had been nothing but patient with him in regards to his need to talk about his experiences since becoming whole again. Martin’s hands grip tighter on the chair, perhaps braced for the possibility that Eli might drop another unnecessary clarity bomb in his mind. But he does not waver. He does not break eye contact with Eli -- who begins to laugh. It’s a genuine laugh. It’s not forced like Martin had half expected to hear should Eli begin to feign amusement.

“You listened to our tapes, didn’t you, Martin?” he asks, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table, his fingers drumming in a rhythmic motion. “What did you think?”

“Of course I listened to the tapes!” Martin announces, almost irritated with the question. “Jon’s worried about you and that’s why he had me listen to them! You’ve still got Jonah inside of you! You can’t just talk to a therapist about that and you need to talk to someone, so.” Martin still does not sit, although the way Eli is sitting indicates that he would be accepting if Martin chose to kick back and stay a while. “So I’m here to listen instead. I wouldn’t know a thing about what it’s like to share a body with him, but I do know a bit about being manipulated by someone. On more than one account.” There’s a pause and he makes a point of scanning the room. “You also tried to bludgeon my...boyfriend? With a pipe.”  “In all fairness, that was Jonah, not me.” Eli holds up a finger and quickly refutes Martin’s statement. “And why do you sound so uncertain. Anything I know about the Lonely tells me that someone’s really got to love you to pull someone out of there.”

“We haven’t exactly talked about it, but this isn’t about me and Jon, this is about you --”

“I’m not so sure about that, see, now you’ve piqued my interest.” Eli chuckles a bit but then raises his arms and then stands, his arms in the air. “Check me over, Martin. No pipe. No weapon. Nothing on me that could cause harm to anyone. Unless you count the lighter in my pocket.”

“Give me the lighter, Eli.” Martin says, holding his hand out.

“And what am I going to use to light my pipe with later? Twigs and some flint?”

“I’ll give it back when we’re done chatting, but I would very much like to have the lighter. Just, just as a precaution. I don’t know if Jonah’s hidden some kerosene in here and left you with the lighter as a means of setting this place on fire in order to teach us some sort of lesson.”

“You know the statements here are too valuable to Jonah --”

“The lighter, Elias.” Martin says again, sounding more firmly before Eli finally caves and removes the lighter from his pocket and places it within Martin’s hand. “Thank you, I’ll give it back when you leave but Jon told me you don’t seem to have much, er, awareness, when Jonah has you again.”

Eli adjusts his jacket again and sits down. “Martin, do me a favor, will you?” he requests, voice softening. Martin made a hum in response. “Don’t call me Elias. Please. That’s not who I am anymore.”

“Sorry, wasn’t my intention to use the wrong name.” Martin responds, lowering his gaze as he takes this chance now to sit down. Any of the tension that had been built between them had now since eased and he looks up at Eli from across the table. “Now, do you want to talk about it, or should we just sit here?”

“This is forced therapy, isn’t it?” Eli asks, seeming to have calmed himself a bit. “I don’t know what you want me to talk about. That I’ve become a flip-flopped version of what I had been before. Jonah Magnus is still inside me, but he just has less control. What am I supposed to say? That I feel alone and no one understands how I feel? Don’t you think I’m a bit old to be tossing around the ole ‘woe is me’ card at some sort of licensed counselor?”

“That’s not why I’m talking to you, Eli, and you know it.” His shoulders heave up and then down again. “I think. I think Jon wants me to talk to you as a friend. Not that I know you all that well, but I think that’s what you might need. Someone who you can talk to that isn’t Jon or a tape recorder.”

The laugh that Eli has at this point is bitter. “You want to befriend a cranky old man --”

“Eli!” Martin raises his voice much to his own surprise. “I am trying to help you and if you’re going to just dismiss me like I’m not worth your time then maybe you should just, I don’t know, let Jonah take over again. At least that way I could have a tolerable conversation with him, even if I did want to strangle him.” There’s a pause and Martin slumps in his seat. “I’m sorry, that was unnecessarily mean of me. I’m just, having a hard time myself with trying to establish relationships again. I spent a while shut away myself.”

���Preaching to the choir, boy.” Eli says as it’s evident he took no offense with Martin’s frustration. “You sure Jon didn’t send you to talk to me for your sake too? Perhaps a bit of solidarity between two men who have lost more than they cared to.”

“You might be right.” Martin says. “Even since coming back from the Lonely, I haven’t found it easy to talk to anyone again.”

“You see,” Eli says. “This is just as much for me as it is for you. You know, Martin, I know that Jonah did something horrible to you, and that Melanie girl. I know he wasn’t a good man. I know he did whatever he could do to keep you wrapped around his finger. And I know I can’t do anything to make up for this. But I can say I’m sorry. I can say that I’m sorry that I did that to you.” He gestures at himself. “I don’t know what he put in your head, I don’t know what he said, but I can ascertain a guess that it’s one of the things that caused you to spiral,” There’s a brief, scoffing laugh from Martin, although Eli doesn’t notice. “I’d make it up to you if I could.”

“Then tell me what’s on your mind. I might not be Jon and I might not be able to force you to spill your guts, but I’m a safe party to tell things to. It’s not like I’m going to use what you tell me to hurt you. If anything, I’ll try to help if I can.” He speaks before thinking. Was he lying? He was so used to lying to get what he needed that it was hard to tell himself if he was being disingenuous. 

“I’m thinking I know how to get Jonah out of me.” Eli says, his voice bitter. “But I think that’s a conversation we ought to save for another time. Otherwise I’ll be raising quite a number of red flags with you, Martin.” He smiles, and while Martin was not sure of the how genuine his own words were, Eli’s smile is certainly authentic. However, Martin sights and turns his head back to stare at the ceiling. “You are needlessly cryptic, Eli. There’s no need for it.”

“Oh, it’s not meant to be cryptic. I just want to do a bit of testing before I share my thoughts. Would rather not cause any alarm if I don’t have to.” The smile remains on his face. “Now, Martin, if you don’t mind. I have to catch the 6:20 train back to my flat, or I’ll be stuck walking home tonight, and a nearly blind man walking home in the dark isn’t especially a good idea for me.”

“What do you mean blind?” Martin asks as Eli stands from his seat and begins to make his way to the door of the statement room.

“Do you really think Jonah was going to let me keep his eyes without some cost?” Eli asks, hand on the doorknob. “I’m nearly blind as a bat after I leave the Institute.” There’s a beat. “By the way, do you have Melanie King’s number? I wanted to run my theory by her before I try it myself -- Ah, right. No it’s in my phone. Jonah put it in there, didn’t he?” He then offers Martin another smile before he steps from the door. “Be seeing you, Martin. Or maybe not.” And as he steps from the door and makes his way from the archives, Martin scrambles, and calls for Jon. He’s quite sure this is not what the phrase “an eye for an eye” means.

New York Times: The Best Albums of 2017

1. An indicator of walls soon to fall: Joe Mulherin, who records as nothing,nowhere., finds common ground between the charred screams of second- and third-wave emo and the easy swagger of contemporary hip-hop, using both in the service of stark emotional vulnerability. [Read the interview]

nothing,nowhere. Blends Hip-Hop and Emo to Make Tomorrow’s Pop

Joe Mulherin is part of an emerging group of artists that is bridging the chasm between rap and rock. His debut is one of the most promising albums of the year.

By JON CARAMANICA OCT. 20, 2017

HYDE PARK, Vt. — At Green River Reservoir State Park here earlier this month, the water was placid and clear, and the leaves on the surrounding trees were a dozen shades of green, lustrous red, pumpkin and taupe. Every now and then, a loon floated by, incurious.

It was a Friday evening, and Joe Mulherin — who records scathingly beautiful hip-hop-influenced emo music as nothing,nowhere. — was building a fire for the night.

“I feel the most calm when I’m here doing this and I’m away from it all,” he said of camping out. He unsheathed a small ax and found a skinny, dead tree to chop down, then used a bow saw to cut its trunk into campfire-size pieces, which, over the course of the night, were reduced to silvery ash.

Vermont’s outdoors is a salve and a muse for Mr. Mulherin, 25: His right arm is covered in tattoos of the state flower, the state fish, the state seal, the loon from the reservoir (“They don’t know how hard I ride for them,” he said, referring to the loons).

But just as often he’s indoors. In the basement of his parents’ house, not far from this park, he has spent the last few years refining his music, one post at a time on the streaming service SoundCloud. 

On Friday, nothing,nowhere. will release “Reaper,” an outstanding album that synthesizes the second-wave emo of the early to mid-2000s with the rattling hip-hop low end of the last few years. It is one of the most promising pop albums of the year; the logical, and perhaps inevitable, endpoint of hip-hop’s broad diffusion into every corner of American musical life; and also the most viable current direction for guitar-driven music in the mainstream.

The lyrical rawness of “Reaper” — Mr. Mulherin’s proper full-length debut album, and his first on a record label — can be searing. “There’s a lot of instances on this record where I probably should have just taken a nap,” Mr. Mulherin said while finishing off a fireside pad thai, cooked with water boiled over a modified seltzer can filled with isopropyl alcohol.

“I haven’t spoke to you since 17/Just thought I’d let you know you’re dead to me,” he lovingly sings on the spooky, abraded “Clarity in Kerosene,” one of the album’s most anguished songs. At the chorus, Mr. Mulherin toggles back and forth between shrieking and soothing, and in the verses, he alternates between a kind of whispered, conspiratorial singing and nimble rapping.

The music is similarly piercing and caressing. Mr. Mulherin often plays with an arid electric guitar tone redolent of lonely folk music. “I’m really into open tunings,” he said. “There’s something about that tone that’s chilly, that’s kind of cold and removed.” His beats are urgent and dark. (He produced the album with the punk producer Erik Ron and JayVee, a SoundCloud collaborator.)

The music of nothing,nowhere. is an intriguing turn for emo, which has been through at least four waves, and has been celebrating a revival by classicist-minded new bands in recent years. Mr. Mulherin is a devotee of the genre’s older standard-bearers — “I never stopped listening to these bands,” he said of groups like Mineral and the Promise Ring. But he’s part of a young, still relatively fringe group of artists, largely gathered on SoundCloud, that is melding vintage emo with contemporary hip-hop production, finding unlikely kinship.

In the way that the rise of Drake portended the final obliteration of the wall between hip-hop and R&B, the music of nothing,nowhere. — along with other SoundCloud-first artists including Lil Peep — helps bridge the chasm between rock and hip-hop. Unlike the rap-rock of a decade and a half ago, which was often clunky, expressed via brute force and a constant reminder of its forebears, Mr. Mulherin’s blend is seamless and intuitive.

That’s clearest on the ethereal and sinewy “Hopes Up,” which features a guest appearance by the emo godfather Chris Carrabba of Dashboard Confessional.

Mr. Carrabba likened nothing,nowhere.’s embrace of hip-hop to his own generation’s engagement with hardcore: “Some of the trappings are similar: posturing, hypermasculine, not necessarily inclusive, cocky and braggadocious,” he said in a phone interview. “Joe seems to have embraced the best pieces of that and laid the tropes aside. That’s where I see a connection to our generation.”

Mr. Mulherin still has the voice mail saved on his phone of Mr. Carrabba agreeing to sing on the track and asking “to hear more of your music just because I’m kind of obsessed with this song.” He said hearing that kind of praise from someone he looked up to “really puts wind in my sails, because I’m not the most confident person.”

Mr. Mulherin was raised in Foxborough, Mass. but spent summers in this part of Vermont. By the time he began taking guitar lessons at 12, he was already immersed in the bruising rap-rock of the era, Limp Bizkit and Linkin Park (“my first vulnerable band”), and also emo and post-hardcore bands like Taking Back Sunday, Thursday and Senses Fail.

He was shy, preferring listening to music in his room to doing homework. Soon he was posting emo covers of rap songs like 50 Cent’s “Candy Shop” and Jim Jones’ “We Fly High” on his Myspace page.

After high school, he went to the only college that accepted him, the hippie-leaning Burlington College: “It wasn’t unusual to walk into class and no one would be wearing shoes, or deodorant, for that matter.” He fell hard for the beauty of Vermont. Already straight edge, in his freshman year, he went vegan. He’d been making videos with his friends since high school, and got a job editing videos for a local business. In 2013, he won a short-film competition as part of a young-filmmaker internship that brought his work to the Cannes Film Festival.

Still, he was dissatisfied, and after saving up a few thousand dollars, he left college after earning an associate’s degree and started nothing,nowhere. He posted his first song in his current style on SoundCloud in 2015 and, after getting a positive reception, made several more songs quickly. Online interest grew, and eventually led to offers from touring agents, managers and record labels. Last year, at dinner before his first label showcase, “I was shaking,” he recalled. “I couldn’t even drink my water.” (nothing,nowhere. is signed to DCD2, the imprint founded by Pete Wentz of Fall Out Boy.)

A sensitive child who refused to kill insects, Mr. Mulherin had a panic attack in second grade, and has been grappling with anxiety ever since.

“I’d be a lot worse if I didn’t make music,” he said. “With my worst moments, I just put it into a song so I don’t have to feel it elsewhere, and sometimes that works.”

It’s that emotional immediacy that radiates most powerfully from his songs, and has resonated. Since he first began getting attention online, Mr. Mulherin said has been receiving emails and messages from fans, like “I got this tattoo on my neck of your logo cause I was gonna kill myself and then I heard ‘Deadbeat Valentine.’”

“I know my message and what I bring to the table is positive,” he said. “I’m acting upon my empathy. I have nothing but good intentions.”

With that, he headed off into the trees to gather more wood, making sure the fire would keep burning.