Somewhere in New York, in a basement underneath a Chinese restaurant, is Marlon Bibb’s parlor. A mysterious fog floats through the room. The walls, curtains, and chairs are all plush and red. Marlon sits in the middle of the room at a small marble tabletop. He gently strokes his baby-soft temples, as if summoning the thoughts of faraway strangers, or rousing a tranquil film in the theatre of his mind. When he speaks, it’s with the sophistication of a British aristocrat.
Dash: Hello, Marlon. Thank you for taking the time to chat.
Marlon: It’s my distinct pleasure.
Firstly, how did you become a psychic?
Upon exiting my mother’s womb, my otherworldly powers manifested in a curious manner. While some babies are birthed crying and co-dependent, I emerged fully-literate with the ability to read minds.
Wow, that’s really weird. How old are you now?
Well, that’s a complicated question. But, fortunately, I knew you were going to ask it. I’ve existed on the planetary body known as earth for six months.
Don’t interrupt me, please. It’s quite irritating.
You’re forgiven. Anyhow, my psychic powers grant me access to a limitless trove of mental information. I can access the knowledge of every person who ever attained consciousness in this dimension. So, technically, I’m as old as human civilization.
That doesn’t really make sense. Shouldn’t you only be able to tap into the minds of living people? Otherwise, you’d be a medium.
Precisely. I can access the mind of all living mediums, which means I can access all of the spirits in their perverse mental Rolodex. In other words, I can access the thoughts of the earliest homo sapiens. And animals, too, if I so choose.
That’s fucking dope. In that case, what’s my great-great-grandfather thinking right now?
He thinks you’re a loser.
That’s so rude, though. How could he possibly think such a thing?
You must remember, your great-great grandpapa worked 14 hours a day on a farm in North Dakota. His wife died during childbirth, so he was forced to sire seven children on his own, without any of the luxuries of modern life. He tended to the fields during the day, bringing the boys along to learn their father’s trade, while the girls stayed home to nurture the newborns. The landscape was cold and hostile, and months of arduous fieldwork would often yield limited rations. After a days work, he would return to read the children bedtime stories by candlelight. Their only renewable resources were love and hope. You, by contrast, slouch over the computer for hours, mindlessly watching YouTube videos.
That’s incredible. What else did he say?
He says your obsession with the internet is grotesque, and your futile attempts to cultivate an online persona will produce long-term isolation and despair. With every step into virtual reality, you’re being stripped of your last vestiges of humanity. You miserable lout!
LOL. What a fucking loser! He would definitely be on FarmersOnly.com if it existed back then. If you’re so smart, what happened to your family?
I left home after a few days, because my powers allowed me to access all of my parents’ knowledge, which quickly made them dispensable. I realized that my destiny is to use my powers to help others navigate their existential crises. That’s my ultimate purpose.
Holy shit. So what should I do? Thank god I came here.
Excuse me, I need to change my diaper.