Here was the tale of the cosmic entity known as the Beyonder and practically every hero and villain of note in the Marvel universe — good guys like the X-Men, bad guys like Doctor Doom and nonaligned forces like Galactus. I turned pages and gaped at panels as fists and cosmic fury exploded. If nirvana existed, I’d found it in this basement.

And all the while, the radio in the background pumped boom-bap goodies as DJ Red Alert spun on 98.7 KISS-FM. Hip-hop and comic books in perfect synthesis. I had discovered the sounds of MC Shan, Rakim and Whodini alongside new Brooklyn pals like Ron. And now I had entered the next phase of my comic book love affair.

When I eventually left journalism to take my shot at writing for the screen and comics, the surprise was that DC Comics gave me the opportunity. I had always imagined that it would be Marvel. Still, that evolution didn’t happen without me imbibing the creative fire of Stan Lee and Mr. Kirby and all who dwelt in that house of Marvel, that house of magic, over the decades.

I might have been writing essays, reviews and profiles for 15 years, but in my creative heart whenever I was plumbing the depths of, say, Death Row-Bad Boy intrigue, I was really wrangling tales of conflict between the Kree and the Shi’Ar — alien empires in the Marvel Universe.

I was 39 when I gave up a perfectly fine career to chase the dream that Stan Lee planted in my 7-year-old heart — old enough to know better, according to more than one cynical sideline observer. But hip-hop’s mantras told me to forget the odds and go for mine.

And perhaps of more import, my hero Stan Lee was also around 39 when he and Jack Kirby created the Fantastic Four, signaling the beginning of Marvel’s “Silver Age,” when it redefined comics and superheroes. Do omens and inspiration come clearer than that?