Short Character Sketch (work in progress): Ned
Obama says he wants to keep the internet free, believes it should be an 'open forum.'
As if the internet wasn't monitored already. Although I'm fond of conspiracy--perfectly okay with it-- my personality, it-
The television screen flashed, then darkened as the bulb inside its enormous frame cooled with a relieved whooo. Ned Covaks emerged from his quasi-coma.
As he gazed at people he didn't know, their actions arbitrary amidst the nothing new, his right hand scribbled autonomously across a legal pad.
“Stop.” Nothing.
Whatever was doing the 'willing' in his life had always intrigued Ned Covaks. The voice in his head, presumably the one we all have, was telling his limb to stop. Nothing.
Covaks resigned to watch. The limb concluded its scribbling after marking down what he recognized as his signature. Putting the pen on the yellow paper, Covaks got up to rewind his videotape, then shuffled back to his sofa and sat down, clutching a remote control, resuming his routine.
He produced a small tape recorder from his pocket. Rising again, and pacing before the television, he pressed a small red button, rewound the videotape, and spoke.
“And like that,” Covaks said, pressing play on the remote control, “we bridge the seemingly interminable gap between here and then, while simultaneously sifting through years of mindless philosophical theory.”
His intensity rose.
“Ever thought about what a camera really does?”
“A camera will bottle up the past- provide objective proof for it all being there, for it being real, for all of it.”
“He remembers, she remembers, she does, he doesn't--” Covaks stopping to scratch his head.
“Doesn't matter.”
“The camera remembers.”
“At my disposal: one Canon HV-30 high definition camcorder with removable DCR6600PRO .66x wide angle conversion lens by Raynox.”
Ned acquired his Canon by ways of a bankrupt porn director called Vincent Hughes. He informed Ned that he'd get diagonal and horizontal magnification, 'to open her up real wide,' as he was handing over the camera. Covaks laughed, though not at the joke- he had his proof machine.
“The whole of humanity will remember me.”
Covaks enjoyed philosophy. Covaks enjoyed drugs. Covaks came to believe that his philosophical inquiry was enhanced by psychoactive plants and chemicals.
“Disinhibiting stimuli,” he posited, “like the mescaline experience, or lysergic acid, afford the user unparalleled insight into hyper-concentrated reality, whereby truth may become more readily available.”
The head resting atop Covaks's slouched shoulders was thoroughly fucked- too many drugs, not enough sleep. The extent of his philosophical explorations culminated into a daturra trip that began a week ago, and as far as Covaks's mental health was concerned, never really ended.
Tonight, Ned Covaks intended to off himself on camera...
