![]() ![]() There’s a difference, too, between when Destiny’s Child made their case in 1999 and when Reeves made his forty years before: in 1959, not everyone had a telephone, especially not in rural areas. It was the original “ Say My Name,” although Reeves doesn’t just suspect he’s pleading with a cheater, he knows there’s another man, and not just in the world, but in the room. Do you want me? Answer yes or no, darling, I’ll understanding.” Hard to believe anyone could say no to that baritone voice, or that that it would take any more convincing, but Reeves pleads: “You can’t say the words I want to hear while you’re with another man. “Whisper to me, tell me do you love me true,” Reeves asks and then demandingly: “Should I hang up or will you tell him he’ll have to go?” It’s a ballad that sounds a little like a waltz, the piano and vibraphone twinkling throughout. “Put your sweet lips a little closer to the phone,” Reeves says, only he’s not a husband who can’t hear his wife, but someone whose someone is with someone else: “I’ll tell the man to turn the jukebox way down low,” he sings, “And you can tell your friend there with you he’ll have to go.” A singer called Jim Reeves recorded that song, “ He’ll Have To Go” in October of 1959 it topped the charts by February of 1960. One day, she wrote it down so they could turn it into a song. “Put your sweet lips a little closer to the phone,” he’d say. Without anyone to describe him, he is nothing.Joe Allison had trouble hearing his wife, Audrey, on the phone. If he had outlived humanity, he reckoned he'd outlive just about everything else in the universe. He has no one to talk to, and no one to suffer with.Īnd he assumed there was no escape from this life of torture. The voices gave him company, the texts gave him something to live for. He had always been lonely, but he was never alone. He no longer tries to read about himself, or find an expert on his own history, for all that he will ever know has already been written. He no longer listens for his name to be called - there is no one to call it. What he did feel was the deafening silence and numbing blindness. He didn't feel horror as people struggled to say "I love you", "What's for lunch?", or to even use a turn signal. He didn't know of the impending demise of communication, or of the desperate attempts to save it. His flow of information was running dry, and with it, any chance for his epiphany moment. He noticed that slowly, he was hearing fewer voices mention something relevant, and seeing fewer tales that aroused his attention. Unfortunately, this was a byproduct of the world's inability to communicate anything at all. No one could spread their dangerous ideas to anyone else ever again. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil.įortunately for the Foundation and everyone it protects, by the late 2020's, all communicable infohazards were effectively neutralized, simplifying some of the organization's most complicated containment procedures. Containment often amounted to clearance-level locks and copious usage of amnesetics - what you don't know can't hurt you. Even the very documentation meant to protect readers could be used to inoculate victims and spread the virus. Historically speaking, communicable infohazards were among the most difficult anomalies for the Foundation to contain. … If it wasn't for the tireless work of the Foundation to keep his very existence under lock and key, never to be mentioned again. ![]() Eventually, his great mystery would be solved, and his life given a sense of completion. Eventually, he figured, someone would learn about him and allow him to know his true nature. The last time he met a human, they ran off screaming into the horizon, their orange jumpsuit never to be seen again. ![]() He was almost always left just out of frame, only gathering pieces of a lookalikes' life. He could see a story in a book, about a tall, dark, monster… but this one had teeth, or scales, or tore out your guts in a haunted forest. He was frequently left disappointed, however. That is how he spent his days listening and watching the whole world, waiting for a new breakthrough in a cold case, for someone who could finally answer his existential questions. He constantly stood vigilant, looking for more information, hoping someone could help him figure out himself. All he knew was that he could hear and see what others said anywhere at anytime. He didn't know where he was, why he was there, or even who he was. His location was irrelevant, for he only knew of two places his barren home and the foreign outside world.
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