I saw a very big cloud coming over the mountain after drinking some very strong coffee. I had an idea of doing something with the big angry drone and building a gradually more intense soundscape, but it didn't quite go that way. I built this very slowly, and looking back, I think I expected it to take much longer than it did to actually accomplish the progression I wanted to accomplish. But there's no need to explain the content of the poem yet I don't think, I bet it will be pretty self-explanatory to people who know me. The song needed to be recorded.


If I ever had a time
For a poem
It was now,
That I sit on my porch step,
Watching the last year
Roll by me like an avalanche,
And though I know I'm blinded
I still see those mushroom clouds
On the back of my eyelids,
Overturning boats
And uprooting islands.
I remember the bomb,
And how it made acquaintances
Best friends,
And how hastily it made me speak,
To promise life
When really
I was only hanging on
To the same lifeboat.
Everything seemed petty
After the bomb,
And so it was: petty.
Our landfall,
When we became enemies,
And they took their things
And departed me.
Here I see it burning,
An almighty firecloud,
Swinging wide the gates and
Stupefying suburbs,
A sideways tsunami,
Turning over and over and
Igniting with the propensities of dust,
Toying with the windchimes
Inside of my windows, telling me
Stories about itself
Along the shapes I made for it,
Drifting between the lines and
Bleeding across the containers I had constructed
Its first kiss; ecstatic disaster,
The rain cuts through and I run for the exit.

I want to love,
With all the pain and poetry
That I have left
In my bloodstream.
I want to love her
As a desert and a sandstorm
And a monster
I want to love her
In a world without emotion,
On the dissection slides
And cable ties of her memory
I want to love her
Inside of every sinking ship
Across every single ocean
That I've ever died in.
I want to love her
In all of my secret compartments
In my darket hours, and
To know
But from here within
These poems,
United in trembling like worms digging out from in me
A thousand proverbs
Written in tongues
From the scraps of an odyssey,
All of the frightened devils
Uprooted in exodus
And discarded, and I scream to myself
"How did these arrows get through to you?"
All of these daggers,
And knives,
And harpoons,
Past your miles of trenches,
Stone walls and secret defenses
To wound you?
Or else was the wrath of God
Self-inflicted surgery,
Trying to mend our perfect forms,
Immunities and resistances
To the magic of being born.
These clothes sewn together still seem to be torn.

I hope she knows
When she touches me
She's getting blood all over
Opening up and unsettling
Wounds and cuts
Each totally invisible
Running over me and
Taking me under,
Breaking down a thousand
Of my fences and my delusions
Like a phantom planet
Taking away my atmosphere.
I hope she knows that
When I love her,
I do so
Impossibly with
A thousand words and warnings
Flashing on my screen.
Even as I long for her,
I dread with horror that she will become
Another layer of scar tissue, another name
That I can't stop saying,
Another topic of conversation
For my family to avoid.
And I hope she knows that
She is the most beautiful thing
I have ever seen or felt or
Imagined or dreamed of,
And she is a waking angel.
She looks like she wants to devour me,
She comes down in clouds
Like an infinite storm
And tells me I'm a person,
And surrounds and
Plays the windchimes hanging from my windows
I wish she could see
What these poems look like
Before they turn into words,
Like hurricanes made of solid stone
Like explosions ten stories underwater,
The pictures I want to paint
Behind the simplicity of
Even pronouns, the meaning of
You, I, verbs like hold or kiss or be,
In conjunction and/or/but
Really, written down to keep my sanity
Since survival got the best of me
My halloweens; birthdays and anniversaries,
Days and seconds I remember,
But know everyone else forgot.
I bet she thinks I'm too practiced
But I'm not.


from Nice French Desserts, released December 23, 2016
Timmy Vilgiate: Bass, Guitar, Mandola, Synth, Drum machine, Voice, Lyrics, Mastering, Engineering, Production.



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Timmy Vilgiate Colorado Springs, Colorado

"This is the kind of music that really makes you think, 'Ahh yes, a good example of some music.'"
-New York Times

"Lol sounds like it was recorded on an iPhone."
-Internet reviewer

"If this music were a person, your aunt and her book club friends would see it passing on the street and wrinkle their noses in silent condescension."
-Fake review made up by Timmy other ones are real.
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