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."

Sunny

            There's a lizard in my backyard. I call him Sunny. I have to watch my step so as not to crush him when I get to a certain section of stairs. Yesterday I had to do the jig to avoid him. I came real close to ending Sunny's life. "Sunny, you fool!" I said in anger. My neighbor happened to be outside and she heard me. It was one of those awkward moments I couldn't explain away.
           I thought I'd try to clarify it to her so she wouldn't think I was talking to myself. I played the scenario over in my head. I was going to tell her that I was talking to a lizard, and that I almost stepped on him. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that trying to explain the situation was a bad idea.
            I saw my neighbor gently close the front door behind her. She thought I was bananas. I kind of look bananas; my hair is getting long and my beard is wayward. 
         
            

The Mouse Departed

            The mouse is gone. He packed his bags and caught the Night Crawler to the next town, but not before he took a few bites from my loaf of wheat bread. I guess he thought it was cheese. I don't miss him. He wasn't the best roommate. He was a night owl and somewhat neurotic, not to mention there was a scent to him. He smelled like death, but he was still living. 
             He was an intimidating little guy, a bit overbearing. I think he had an eating disorder. He'd risk life and limb for a bite to eat. And rude too, no consideration whatsoever. I could hardly get any shut eye with him around. I heard a screech owl in a tree one night when he was around, I wanted the screech owl to kill him in a bad way.  

The Mouse Revisted

            The field mouse is exploiting my cabin's imperfections. I'm being haunted by all the instances where I said while building, "eh, that's close enough," or "good enough for government work." I plugged a few holes and found myself listening later that evening to the mouse as he tried to gain access to my cabin. He sounded frustrated and desperate. A smile came to my face. I took great joy in his suffering.
            The mouse kept at it. I heard him run toward the closet. I got out of bed and turned on the light. I thought he'd run scared with my activity. I sat at my desk and turned my computer on to read the paper. The mouse didn't scare. He was furiously scratching at the closet.
            I heard a noise behind me. I turned around. The mouse was crawling on the shelf of the closet. I was spooked. I went one way and the mouse went the other. I think. I lost sight of him in my haste to get away. 
            I gathered myself and emptied the contents of the closet but the mouse had disappeared. I spent part of the next morning plugging holes. Which reminds me of an old adage someone once told me, "if you didn't have the time to do it right the first time, why do you have time to do it over and over again?"

The Burglar

            Last night I found myself face to face with a field mouse. My cabin had been breached. I knew there was some riff-raff going on. There was evidence of it, a broken shot glass here, uncustomary rustling sounds in the exterior, a rodent dropping on my kitchen counter. The dropping was the catalyst for war!

           The field mouse knocked into something pretty hard. It made a racket. I popped up from a dead sleep and turned on the light. I pointed the light in his direction and waited him out. He buckled under the pressure and made a break for it. That's when I saw him, and he saw me. He was scared, but so was I for that matter. What rodents lack in strength they make up for with disease. I'm a bit of a germ-a-phobe. I wash my hands a lot. 
            I got out of bed and thought I'd show him the door. I moved things to get at him. I grabbed a broom for protection. I was a bit jumpy. I was careful not to be surprised by a counter-attack. Somehow the little critter eluded me. I figured he ran out the same way he came in. I spent part of the day reinforcing the cabin. I'm hoping he gives up, but something tells me he won't, survival tends to be persistent.    

Advice For The Average Man

            If I could give one piece of advice, it would be, don't wash your ass before you wash your face.
            I was sleeping on an air mattress. I woke from a deep sleep. I had a premonition that the air mattress was going to lose its air. At that exact moment the mattress lost its air and sank to the ground. I have supernatural powers, I reckoned, as I lay on the collapsed mattress.
           I laid on the hardwood floor and imagined that I was at a superhero convention in Las Vegas. I was walking from booth to booth in my superhero suit with an emblem of a deflated mattress on my chest. Other superheroes slowed their gait to get a glimpse of me and my chest. I knew they were intrigued as to what my powers may be.
           Finally, one of them had the courage to ask, "Excuse me, now just what are your super powers?"
           Deadpan, I answered, "I can make an air mattress deflate on command."