Moths ate the ballast while the captain slept

by rabbitsquirrel

supported by
James Mitcham
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James Mitcham rabbitsquirrel is highly adept at transmuting emotion into lush, dreamlike soundscapes where insanity is a palpable threat. Favorite track: The absent has more clarity than the present.
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    Limited run of 50 cassettes, all in hand made packaging with a printed booklet of the accompanying text. Professionally duplicated on 90 minute chrome plus tapes in purple casing. Each one is unique and hand made in a sewn sleeve. Now shipping!!

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Moths ate the ballast while the captain slept is the full length debut for rabbitsquirrel. The 90 minute album is structured as a two act play, told through soundscapes and text. Released as both a digital download and a limited edition cassette in hand made packaging.


released January 7, 2014



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rabbitsquirrel Providence, Rhode Island

Drone and other emanations, based out of Providence.

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Track Name: A weight of anticipated chemistry
You moved
a piece of hair from the
back of my neck

is the best I can describe
your new habits

Though it does beg
of attention
is this a feat of strength or
are you signal
or distance and material

You resonate with empty
spaces and certain disregard

Imagine what you tasted
when you cracked the corner
and found ten year’s wait
an isolated chemistry

Your touch travels meridians
and proves selfish
forces that a
steady hand
still quakes

Stall and
face without
crystalline structures
every edge a sensitivity
Track Name: The most tender of manifold blindness
I am trying mythologies
in classic style
to explain and excuse
what is already happening

Failure is my own
pride and joy

And we will find where this path leads
this time
And we will learn
this time
A voice can echo for decades
And fall silent in a single night
this time

You have a habitat
in the crease of my eye
and you stand next to me
and you reach out
out to touch
and reassure
reassure me

But I’m not ready
to see you
out of the corner
of my eye

I am trying to

if you visited in the snow
but I realize you are better
at retracing your steps than I
Track Name: Evenings lit by tallow and reed
"The romanticism of self
destruction against the practicality
of self preservation

The certain beauty in
the wilting of a flower
watching the petals dry
and desiccate
into a fragile shell
of the past"

Will you leave me again
crawl back under your tree
for me to finish what
you halted

You light the wick and usher
me closer to the table
and hold
hands between index and thumb
our personal junctures
a finite expression of all
you shift at every decision
a cascade of violet edged facets
clear to your thin eyes

We can feast together
you say
but are careful not
to mention a where
or which when
Track Name: I haven’t the stomach to feed you
I have to ask
are you the snake that swallows its lover?
Three years ago
would I have cleaved my arms?
I have the distinct impression
that you have sketched this
by proxy

You caught me
off gaurd
by your control of pixels
I never thought of you
beyond nerves
and I am starting to realize
you may love the cold

Was it training
or the gathering of strength?
When it happens you know I’ll break
I have been practicing
for longer than appropriate
and am fully aware
of its nature

I am obsessing with borrowed mythologies
abstractions of my episodic communities
the more points
the more complex
and the hope that the constellation will be

I rely on dimming stars
and the wetting of dry beds
to record narrative
a purposefully unreliable companion
to tell stories of how
things shall be

This electric ideal
we forget fingers
for the good of the arm

The first mistake
is thinking that looking back
sees one path
when choices are overlaid
we choose our trimmings
and create words for outside
the talk of other branches
truth in flecks of mica and
a call with different static

It is a wonder
we can even speak
Track Name: Staccato enamel and a symmetry of pressure
"Finding a feather of yours
tucked between my toes

Learning that hanging
does not mean you are hung
but you still wear it nicely

The distraction of the eyes
painted on your spine
is only when you leave

The threadbare trace of camphor
on your words

You have a taste
for more than just fine clothes"

Numbers can represent
hold instructions for their creation
and resurrection

I notice you count
marking out intervals
and wonder if my own
clicking teeth at passing plants
was taught as part
of my training

Anxiety seems to draw
you in closer
and you are a magnificent
teacher when it suits you

What is the significance
of stepping on a shadow?
Track Name: The absent has more clarity than the present
"You are circular
like your stories
I feel your static
from over shoulders

I have to
ask if you are
an easy trouble

our similar and trim fingers
touched by houseguests of
the captain as she
sleeps in the crow’s nest

You look so much
like your friend who watches
pantries at night
that I imagine you were like him
then fell"

You were given away
by the smell of damp wool
are you behind me
or have you mastered the blindspot

I fear it's the latter
from the halo when I open my eyes
you perched in front of me
steadied with you wisps of arms
like the grey of a grid
you falter at direct observation
Track Name: Foundations lost through a needle’s eye
A fearful reparation

The bow is in the attic
and you spend your time
in the crow's nest sleeping

The vessel is yawning
as the basement thins

I've met our new houseguest
said hello in the room between
obsolescence and archival

I said I thought I had met him before
he said I was mistaken
but that he comes from a large family
and I may know his relations

Your intent was clear
and I found it somehow
comforting that you took
your character seriously

You paint the line thin
between cruelties
and if this is the natural ebb
after a decade's flow

Your voice is soft with a sleeve in the mouth
and you grin for the coming audit

I'll try and wake the captain
Track Name: And we, a growing matter of diction
A blade of cattail
between your teeth
you glow over
and dust the upper registers

Are you shared
or are you different
at each angle of fissure
at each sight, new and

I can imagine you a moon eyed hydra
a head for every window
but tell me
do you know what else is seen
or to each mind its own

but I think I know
what you are
a cutting
a sprouting
of roots from a severed tail
quiet without a chorus
of shifted perspective

Do you remember
me from before
Or did that die with my orphan?

If you do, then I wonder
were you welcomed
back with open fingers
to teach of soil and sun

Is it natural
the shedding of faces
anemones of their own
later repatriated

Your visit lasts
a lifetime but for company
you are the model
of ravenous constraint and timing

You practiced first
and left then to study
it is clear
your love of irony and a sense
of humor
to paint the answer
across the landscapes
and leave your pattern

Your enthrall with numbers
must have begun as pride
tied to a tightening threat
the relief when this abstraction
seemed to pass
only to be recaptured

a unit small
enough to break
down everything
and then build
up into that
which can not
otherwise be

I keep speaking of your details
but know where this story goes
please hold me as you
walk the speckled yellow stairs