Explosions of Grandeur and the Story of How I Came to Be

Hi. I’m Marvin.


And the facts are the facts:


Unless I write like a complete and utter MAD-MAN, I struggle to speak.


And this has to do with my last name:


Spears.


You see, I’m sharp by nature and great with a blade.


And I cut things up.


And this is something I’ve inherited.


…from my father…


…and the other things that came before:


The violence; the caves; the paintings; the war.


The monkeys; the trees; the comets; the Sun!


The place at the beginning!


When we were One.


And so, I learned how to fight.


And protect.


And control.


But not so much.
To be vulnerable.


So.
If you’ll allow me.


I’d like to explode.


If only for a minute.


So the story gets told.


Here goes.


Five.


Four.


Three.


Grab a hold.


Hold on tight.


Two.


Here he comes.


The Mad-Man!


The Marvin!


One!


Remember who you are! I examine! I say!


I write these words. Today! Today!


I want to curse! I want to fight!


I want to set the day to night!


I have been living for twenty-three years.


I see my father.
I have his fears!


And I see this world.
Growing hot!


I’ve been thinking about it.
Quite A LOT.


Methane. Carbon. CO2.


Gas Leaks and fraud. And the dying Zoo.


But how?
I ask.


Does a man cut through?


Again.
How?


I ask.
Does a man cut through?


Well.
Well.
Well.


I’m Marvin.
This is sure.


And I am the author.
Of these words.


But I am Spears.
And I have patience.


For me and for you.


And I see the pain.


And I feel the anger.


And now I rain.


And now I rain.


I let it out.


I scream.


I shout!


I shout so loud!


Wake up!


Wake up!


This world’s on fire!


Have you had enough?!


And then I slow.


I pause for breath.


I come back to the reader.


Who I just left…


Okay.
So.


That’s my inner Mad-Man.


My Marvin.


And now this is me.
Both Marvin and Spears — an identity I’ve been working on for years and years.


Or, more specifically, an identity that came to me through the following sequence of events:


At a certain point, I was making big bucks.


The dough was coming in.
And I had no wife.


No child.
No mortgage.


I was single.
And renting.


But I was — though I did not know it yet — quite depressed.


So, one Saturday night, after far too many drinks, I got into trouble.


And I only know this because of what happened the next day.


I woke up.


Went to the bathroom.
And saw I had a black eye.


And then I felt woozy.


And then I threw up.


And then I felt my head.
And the many many bumps.


So, despite having no memory of the event.


No Sherlock Holms was necessary.


All was clear.


I had gotten into a fight.


And from there — my life began to transform.


I saw a neurologist, a psychologist, a doctor; and many tests were run. And I took time off work.


This all happened in 2015.


I was twenty-nine years old at the time, notwithstanding Mad-Man Marvin’s above assertion that I’m only 23.


I swear I was twenty-nine in 2015; and now I’m thirty-seven.


Anyways, as I said, the event transformed me.


Eventually, I quit my job. And to say the least, I went very deep.


I began to think — very seriously — about existence.


And pretty much from the jump, a very strong desire to write sprang forth.


Hence, part of the title of this origin piece:


“Explosions of Grandeur.”


You see, I was dreaming big from the start.


And I wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote.


And now?
Eight years later?


Well.


For one: I’m married.


I have a wife and two children, both of whom are still very young — both under the age of two.


But I also have, not the first, nor the second, nor the third, nor the fourth.


But really, something like the 265th draft of a novel that I’ve been working on since that near-death experience.


You see, I have — or perhaps more accurately — Marvin has kept on dreaming big.


He has never given up.


And he wants to be an author.


He wants to create.


The issue is — until now — I didn’t know he existed.


For me it was always just Spears.


My sole identity.


So as and when Marvin ever spoke up, he was immediately de-humanized or rendered fake or called crazy.


Unrealistic.
And Insane.


As for Spears?


Well.


As I said.


He’s inherited and he’s sharp.


Powerful.


And dominant.


A complete bruiser.


A warrior.


So, time in.


Time out.


Spears rose up in the blink of an eye.


And thrust his blade forward into Marvin’s chest.


The goal was simple.


Eradicate.


Crush.


And kill.


I’m talking real-deal Carthaginian Punishment.


So, you’d think Marvin would die.


Or give up.


Or call it quits.


But therein lies the paradox of trying to kill something that isn’t real.


All you get is temporary silence.


For Marvin— though absolutely a Mad-Man and understandably so (we’re talking 14 billion years of violence and abuse from my main man Spears) — is an absolute survivor.


So, time in.


Time out.


Marvin replied.


And slowly, but surely, that thing that I call “I” — and which is now Marvin Spears — began to listen.


And therein lies the second paradox.


You see, the more closely you listen to that which has been de-humanized or rendered unreal — be it the wind, an immigrant, or any other you’ve placed on the other side of the “divide” — the more likely you are to hear its voice.


And as soon as you hear a voice, it begins to feel real.


And this is what happened to me.


In a kind of sort of way.


I began to give Marvin space.


To let him breathe.


To listen to his words.


Until, finally, today.


I feel comfortable enough to give you:


Marvin Spears.


And that, I’d say:


Is the story of “How I Came to Be.”


And as for that "novel"?


And the 265th draft?


Well, I burned it.


And threw it in fire.


And then I wrote another.


And another.


And soon I will reveal the first.


I call it Dear Super A.I.


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