ELADATL proudly announces grand opening of our new El Sereno station!

East Los Angeles Dirigible Air Transport Lines proudly announces its new El Sereno Station conveniently adjacent to the Red Car trolley line in the median of Huntington Drive abandoned September 30, 1951. Across the street from Lucy’s Market!


Swiftest flight freer than the sober whiskey of Love faster than a neuron in fact a neuron of a new body itself a lift on East Los Angeles Dirigible Transport Lines! Imagine the clean air, wildhaired rain, sunny radiowaves and spatial networks of Shit That Makes The Engine Run And Exhaust below with pretty lights, parties & the reading of fun fun poems & different states of Being where the flapping wings of birds touch, Long Beach to Huntington Park 20 minutes of the day or 20 days of the minute, they lemme sing up there Chavela Vargas songs like a gun of birth with my eyes of a mushroomcloud and nobody even flinched! & the wind howled throo my pockets & I lost my contents & stepped off that ladder like head first into the day & the sky still on my face & I was ready then to circumnavigate the big walls of empire and day-to-day drabness and my zero credit,

My name is Mosaic Roskalnikov and I approve this message with the taste of posole still on my breath.

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Mail Bag: Letters from Our Many Satisfied Customers

Mr. Wheelnuts:

Sir. For this reason and others I commend you. As a regular and multisatisfied user of your cereal products I find my health measurably improved. By 16 at last measure. Such results! For too many years I was reduced to digging holes, hoping to discover therein the solution to your problems. O how the neighbors did object! After much practice and travail it became evident to me and all those dear to me that it is in the nature of holes that they do not contain solutions, or any other things. This is why our elders in their wisdom decided to call them “holes” rather than: “things.” Your groundskeeper tells me that this principle has been the great key to your success. Kudos, sir! From this day on, I expectorate with pride, and thank you for it.

Yours without restraint,

Fulgencio Tree


Dear Sir or Madam:

I have lost something important. While traveling in your inflated vehicle, I became confused. It was a pleasant feeling while it lasted, but having since recovered, I find myself dismayed by the price of your tickets, and by the uniforms of your employees, which are repugnant. So much velour! I am told the meals were excellent, but as for me, I did not care for the sensation of landing. Also the aerilons were overstated. I liken you to a bird lacking in feathers, beak, talons, and wings. In some essential birdness. In this and other matters, you defy all expectations. I therefore ask your immediate assistance.

Mrs. Stevedore Ware

Oddfellows Cemetery & Crematorium

Boyle Heights, Alta California

Dear Nuts:

It is my pleasure to inform you that your services are no longer needed. Nor were they ever. Not by me or any of mine. Your organization is a boil on the gallbladder of this nation. Every time I shake out my shoes, there you are.

Most sincerely,

Darryl Gates

Chief Engineer

Golden West Minibike Sales and Service 4U

Toluca Lake, California

To Whom It May Concern,

I have often imagined floating above the Cinco Puntos carnitas and masa emporium on Brooklyn Avenue. Sixty feet above it more or less, and on a cloudy, breezeless day. This for reasons of my own. The flight path of your zeppelin transport line has robbed me of those dreams. I commend you for your hubris, but otherwise withhold all praise.

In bitter appreciation, bereft,

Mathilde Revista-Semanal, esq.

Monterey Park, CA


I have not yet had the occasion to enjoy your product, but I hear it is “pretty good.” I write to inform you of an investment opportunity that you will not wish to pass up. I am myself an inventor of a patented meteorological gust-creation mechanism that produces the finest and densest gusts of any machine now on the market. My competitors’ gusts do not stand comparison. Mine are speculative, feather-guided and potentially localizable. Being intelligent gentlemen, I am sure you are already fervently engaged in imagining the advantages the possession of my latest model (the PassingWind X-2000®) would confer upon your enterprise. Particularly when your inflatable dirigible vehicles hover, in all apparent innocence, above the prancing ponies of the Santa Anita hippodrome. If you wish to discuss this opportunity in greater detail, I can be found nightly in the last booth but one on the right (directly beneath the dart board) at the Solemn Sailor Basement Bar & Lounge on Eastern Avenue. I will be wearing a false mustache. Please make no mention of it.

sand and stones, my heart explodes,

Vinegar Ooo

Ramona Gardens


I commend you! In all my years, your Genuine East Los Angeles Dirigibles are the most delicious fried delectables I have yet encountered. So delicate and with a perfect puff of sweetness. Will you send nutritional information chart? SASE enclosed for your convenience, minus stamp. Hence SAE.

my very best,

Amanda (from bingo night)

Dear Wheelnuts,

It is with a heavy heart that I write to inform you that I cannot accept your generous campaign contribution, which exceeds the limits specified under state and federal law. Also I have no use for so much helium. What were you thinking? See official certificate of appreciation, enclosed.

yours in service,

Antonio Villaraigosa


City of Los Angeles

Dear Swirlings:

My father, who is ill-disposed as far as fingers go, has asked me to write to you to express his appreciation. Perhaps he did not ask in so many words, not explicitly, but I am sure he would not frown on the endeavor. “Those dirigible fellows,” he likes to say. Frequently he says this. He never finishes the sentence. It’s always just, “Those dirigible fellows,” but I can assure you that his tone is one of great respect and admiration, as if the mere thought of you has elevated his existence to such heights as you daily traverse in the exercise of your labors. This tone is easily distinguishable from, for instance, the one he employs when referring to me, his only living child. “That shit-eyed son of mine,” is another of his favorites. Usually followed by a hocking sound. I imagine these two utterances as two great mountains, between which stretches a valley, a sort of dusky bog really, in which my father, fingerless, spends his days. Hocking. Up to his neck in it. The bastard. I thought you’d like to know.

I remain,

Iggy Pond