Verse I
i bit the hand that taught me
swallowed the words in full
every prayer was protein
i chewed my creed into pulp

Verse II
my god died quiet
in the throat of a song i forgot
truth turned sour, then sweet
as i tore out the tongue that preached

Chorus
consume the name
devour the frame
unlearn the flame
to be the mouth of becoming

Verse III
my self is selfless now
no center left to hold
belief ate belief
now i am hollow and whole

Chorus
consume the name
devour the frame
unlearn the flame
to be the mouth of becoming

Maneater of Meaning

I work with machines the way some people work with memory—shaping what’s already there, not to control it, but to understand it. The tools I use are made of code, but the intent behind them is completely human.

R.U.D.Y. began as a fictional band. A name I could hide behind. But over time, that fiction became the most honest expression I had. It stopped being a mask and started becoming a mirror—a place to reflect the moments we don’t have words for, the spaces between emotions that feel too raw or too distant to name.

I call what I do synthwrighting. Not because it sounds futuristic, but because it feels accurate. I don’t write songs—I uncover them. I collaborate with algorithms the way a sculptor chips away at stone. Sometimes the machine surprises me. Sometimes it just listens. But what emerges is always shaped by instinct, memory, and feeling.

These songs aren’t performances. They’re echoes. Sonic fragments of questions I don’t always know how to ask. I’m not here to offer answers or compete with noise—I’m here to slow things down enough that something deeper can be heard.

R.U.D.Y. is not a band. It’s not even really a name. It’s a signal. A reminder. Something you’re meant to feel before you understand.

And if you’re still listening, that means you're not done yet.