We'll go on.

...bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthur
nuk!

(STATIC)

....and so ahem, and yes, we are back on the air aft...

...terference on the waves, airwaves we should say, one of those things you just can't help, exactly, but that's just how it....

...oodness gracious great balls of....

...still having some transmission troub....

...to the faraway towns, now war is declar...

(TEST PATTERN)

Are we on?

(Yes, go, talk!)

Stand by for a message to our loyal readership:

(CALMING AND DIGNIFIED MUSIC -- MUSSORGSKY'S "PICTURES AT AN EXHIBITION")

Ladies and gentlemen. Our last post, entered in January of this year -- it is now September, for those not keeping track -- addressed a peculiar trend in a certain American town. Shortly after that post was written, Our Founder the esteemed Dr. Hulbeck was chloroformed, blindfolded, dragged into an unmarked white-gray van, urinated upon -- we blush to admit it but we can do no more than report the truth -- and then subjected to repeated physical humiliations by an unseen assailant known only by the codename "Maverick." Why this happened we do not know, nor do we understand why the esteemed Doctor was repeatedly referred to as "Ice."

The deep trauma of this incident sent shock waves through our organization. To compund the problems our in-house tech support guy, Horst, came down with food poisoning. The temp agency sent us a replacement, Frank, with remarkable promptness -- before we'd even notified them, actually -- who, after "auditing" our system, told us that we were not "clear" and that we had to shut down. (We're not technical people here at the Institute, so the jargon often escapes us.)

When Horst finally recovered a great brouhaha erupted and after a good deal of legal wrangling and expenditure of money we have finally become ourselves again.

But all this is by the by. These things happen, after all, there's no getting aroudn simple misfortune. That's the unpleasant thing about the world, that those who would speak freely often lose the opportunity, whether through mischance or intent. Not to blow our own horns here at DHAIP, but one thing we have always striven for is honest and open expression. Things often happen to interrupt that. Sometimes life is the problem. And it is when life is the problem, paradoxically, that we feel most dead.

Death, as we have discovered during our proverbial "time in the desert," is not having a voice. Death is the absence of argument. Death is the choice of passivity. Death is always a choice.

(A HOVERING MINOR CHORD)

Life, as they say, goes on. We suffer and we endure. We fall and rise again. Misfortune looms over all of us: global warming, nuclear terrorism, cancer, AIDS, Bush. But our imaginations keep us kicking, somehow. Over and over again.

We apologize for our gap in service, and say to all of you, via Wordsworth:

(MINOR SHIFTS TO MAJOR)

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream;
For the soul is dead that slumbers
And things are not what they seem.

Life s real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art and dust returnest
was not spoken of the soul.

The soul, you say? Yes. Atheists know the soul as well as anyone. Better, perhaps. We don't need Heaven; we have the Truth, the Truth we all conspire in, alive, dead, or somewhere in between. Death only enriches it and completes the story. We are REAL, every one of us. You too. Yes: you.

(A TRIUMPHANT FLOURISH. SUDDEN, JANGLING GUITAR CHORDS. A HEAVY BASSLINE BEGINS, FOLLOWED BY A HOARSE, URGENT VOICE. IT SINGS:)

LONDON CALLING!
to the faraway towns
now war is declared
and battle come down

LONDON CALLING!
to the underworld
Come out of the cupboard
all you boys and girls

LONDON CALLING!
now don't look at us
Phoney Beatlemania
has bitten the dust

LONDON CALLING!
see we ain't got no swing
'Cept for the ring
of that truncheon thing

The ice age is coming, the sun is zooming in
Meltdown expected the wheat is growing thin
Engines stop running but I have no fear
Cos London is drowning and I live by the river

LONDON CALLING!
to the imitation zone
Forget it brother
you can go it alone

LONDON CALLING!
to the zombies of death
Quit holding out
and draw another breath

LONDON CALLING!
and I don't wanna shout
But while we were talking
I saw you nodding out

LONDON CALLING!
see we ain't got no highs
Except for that one
with the yellowy eyes

The ice age is coming the sun is zooming in
Engines stop running the wheat is growing thin
A NUCLEAR ERROR but I have no fear
Cos London is drowning and I live by the river

Now get this:

LONDON CALLING!
yes I was there too
An' you know what they said -
Well, some of it was true!

LONDON CALLING!
at the top of the dial
an' after all this
won't you give me a smile?

I never felt so much ALIVE...

Welcome back, dear readers.