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A scraggy baby was born in a grey September morning of 1977. Surprisingly, the child wore the Stick of Command in his right hand, dark glasses above his nose and a huge top hat that evidently identified him as one of the Loosehip family members. No matter how much should one move, a Loosehip never lets the top hat fall.

And thus grew the baby, within laments and prayers, soon to be himself the one to command his own parents. Being still a snotty little tyke, he already had the chance to give his first economy, history and sciences speeches. Even though many wouldn't understand, they soon started to realise what was before them.

Years passed and that boy became a tall, skinny, brilliant life form of fairly big head, accented even more due to the huge top hat that never left him yet.

The machines and him, him and the machines. There wasn't anything else in his world that could comprehend him the same way they did. And, subtly, he began annexing to them to finally melt in perfect symbiosis to them and become one single entity. The others still saw him as an eccentric being, crestfallen, but deep inside him shined an untamed strength that needed to break out of him somehow.

It obviously broke the shell and came out, although nobody could tell wether it had taken the right direction. Soon his fingers were nothing but the keys' appendix, his feet flowed in tremendously long wires that joined the ones of his favorite machine. Meanwhile, he worshipped her, venerated her just as if there was nothing else in the world. Only him, his enormous top hat, and the most perfect of all the human being's creations.

And they danced. Danced with loose hips until exhaustion in long winter nights, mutually giving each other the warmth both of them needed. Danced until dawn.

But everything had to end, she was exerting too much influence upon his fragile self. So, even though it meant a terrible effort to him, one day he finally made his mind up. Pulled the wires out of his feet and used them to hold her; split his fingers from the keys and grabbed the keyboard tight, growling, trying to look self-confident before her. Despite the struggle, the hat did not yield. In a matter of few minutes he had dominated her, she was now nothing but his slave. A tool for him to let his most basic instincts flow freely.

Now he uses her. She's to express his thoughts without the need for him to talk; she cries out shrieks in shape of music whenever he commands her to; she dances for him. The top hat will never fall.







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