La Puebla

PHOTO: unknown

There's ideas floating in LAs lights. Los Angeles. La Puebla de la Nuestra Señora la Reina de Los Angeles de Porciúncula. Tiny little ideas riding on beams of light, sunlight, electric light, starlight, moon light, reflected light. Sunlight is so filled, so jampacked, with ideas in Lahss Anjeleez, her sunlight light looks used, pre-owned. Reflected light ideas are recycled. So crowded with ideas is light in LA that both light and LA, overflow into places where light and ideas never meant to go and should have never gone. But Lohz Angehlehs needed cool and hot lights are cool.

Light crowds tight little spaces and spreads like oil, like gasoline, like fluid on anything in any space. When light disappears, little idea dust lays around, rubbing off on passing brains. Ideas are viruses. They ride light, they wiggle their sometimes-obscene little selves onto whatever host they contact. Not every host, of course, is fertile ground for an idea. Not every dark space should have light.

Light ideas get spread by neon and incandescent and florescent and lasers and tricked into performing kind of a high tech dog and pony show. Sunlight, yeah even sunlight, gets re-used, more light and hotter water and colder water and electricity and environmentally green machines and very tricky solar power light. Sun to sun. Lohs Anglehs basks in sun. El Lay gets tan every day. No stars, no light. No light, no movies. No movies, no money. No money, no people. No people, no Stars. Starlight starbright, ain’t the stars right fine tonight? Ain’t they grand? Ain't they cool?

And where do Stars, and I mean Stars with capital 'S', get ideas? I'm telling you, in the light. All that light floating around the City of Angels. The town around the Angel Queen. The City of the Queen of the Angels. Light Town. City o’ Lights. Sure as shit ain’t Paris, but gotdam its got lights! Hot cool lights.

The sun shines down on us all, everybody, not just la bella encantada la reina de los angeles, but everybody. As long as PCH is basking in sunlight, all the fashionistas, baristas, servers and sailors, producers, potheads, directors, deadbeats, builders, best boys, gonzo girls, grips and actors, and even some little toad in east LA is probably hiding under a rock to keep moist and every crack and smack dealer inside city limits is hot and trying to keep cool. Not be cool. That’s different, very different. But keeping cool helps anyone be cool. And being cool in La Puebla is way important, muy importante. To be in LA is to know the way of cool.

Get this idea. Being cool means know when the lights are on. On you. And lights on you, don’t mean sunlight. In sunlight's bright light you wear cool sunglasses. Sunlight gives you a hot tan and that's cool. The other lights you put on cool and sunglasses for are Klieg lights. If there're no Klieg lights, you put on cool and sunglasses just in case. Just in case someone sets up Klieg lights, or someone aims camera laser lights at someone, or someone wants someone to think someone is pointing camera laser lights at someone. And if they do then you move, you move like all the Klieg lights in La La Land are on you, focused on you, lighting on you, lighting you. That’s what cool is. Hot. Hot lights, hot nights, hot bodies, cool ‘tude dude. That's cool.

Remember Double Dubuque? No. No one remembers Double Dubuque. An LA that never was. Angels with no cool. A non-cool, no cool LA. A Puebla de angelinas imperfectas misremembered by WWII dogface returnees who hated La Reina's fine figure. That was, well that was a long time ago, before cool was cool. Yeah, Double Dubuque. Just a way to remember somewhere someone wanted to forget. Dubuque, somewhere back east. Double Dubuque, somewhere out west. West of the west. Double Dubuque. An easy way to put down two places for the price of one. But sad Dubuquers out east could get, and did get, and were lost in Double Dubuque and Double Dubuquers couldn't, wouldn’t, shouldn't help Dubuquers find their way home. Because out west Double Dubuquers live in The Big Orange and they don’t know where Dubuque out east is and they don’t care, won't care, and if they did, they couldn't, wouldn’t, shouldn't say, to be cool, and that’s cool.

In the City of Angels, angels roll over the, on the, under the freeways. Angeleno angels in the LaLa Land of la automobíl carry guns and gun for cool by the glide in the pride of mechanical stride. And angels shoot when one angel don't want to go with the flow. In Southland that ain’t cool. You ride with the tide, cause if you do, an idea riding light finds you. When ideas find you, Starlight, Starbright, you join the light in the night. You get to be hot and that’s cool.

Starlight starbright lights wandering around down in Tinseltown, they all know. They all breathe in all that light filled with all those ideas, they all start the glow. They all breathe their fill and they all fill with a will. They all grow on the glow. And their glow's a glow all around the globe. They're hot and that’s cool.

Luminescent, incandescent, florescent, phosphorescent, fill the fine night with idea light. The angelenos de la puebla of Mrs. Queen of Double Dubuque Southland La La Angels are feeding, la gente will swill their fill of Big Orange hot idea cool. They got cool. And they work it in La Puebla. And that's cool.