Joshua Tree

           I took a trip to Joshua Tree and stayed in the very room that Gram Parsons died in. I didn't want to stay in his room, but all the other rooms were booked.
           I felt a presence when I walked into the room; maybe it was just the history of the place, or the fact that someone famous died there nearly thirty years ago.
           I brought out a bag of almonds and tried to pry the bag open, but it wouldn't budge, so I reached for my pocket knife. I was thinking about Gram. I was mocking him for having a trust fund. He was just a rich punk kid I reasoned, while I held the knife in my hand. I cut into the bag of almonds, and sliced my index finger in the process. Blood started to ooze out of it. I quickly apologized to Gram. I guess I was being a little bit too harsh. I remembered that Gram's father committed suicide and his mother was a drunk; money couldn't fix that. 
           Gram and I got past it. All was forgiven. I sat down to strum my guitar. I'm working on a new song, and I thought I could use some help from Gram. I hadn't been strumming long when the words started to pour out of me. I wrote them down the best I could. I read them later. I'm not sure I can use them, they might be gibberish.

If You Don't Sing, Hum

            I met a woman at a bar the other night, and she said she never sings. 
            "Not even in the shower?" I asked.
            "No, not even in the shower."
            "Oh, you must be a whistler," I said.
            "No, I don't whistle."        
            "Do you hum?"
            I could tell the woman was getting annoyed with the conversation, but that didn't stop me. When somebody mentions that they don't sing my immediate thought is dead spirit. There's nothing sadder than a dead spirit in my estimation. 
            I took it upon myself to revive the lady's dead spirit by asking more questions. This had an immediate effect. The woman started to gather her things and walk away. It made perfect sense to me, dead spirits want to remain dead, and no matter how hard you try to revive them they resist. Which reminds me of an old song we use to sing when we were kids: "every party has a pooper that's why we invited you, party pooper."