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Path of 6 - RUBY
Album Overview:
First and foremost, I want to thank you, the listener, for taking the time to absorb and embrace my work with open ears and mind. I’d like to begin with a concept that spawned into my brain about 8 months ago as of writing this, after searching through old sesame street clips: Path of 6
“In the garden of the queen of six, is where the queen gets her kicks. Walking on a path of bricks, shaped into a number six”
The Path of 6 is a conceptual breakdown of how I have lived my life up to this point, symbolizing a circular path of pain and trauma that has an obvious way out the entire time, only to be ignored out of comfortability within this cycle of distress. This 6 shaped path has led me in circles my entire life, searching for answers along a road I’ve already walked down countless times, essentially depicting textbook insanity. What this concept has helped me understand is that while the reasons I find myself in this loop may be far out of my control, only I have the power to deviate from the comfort of familiarity and exit the cycle. As I have been shaped by this way of thought, so has the album in its creation, and in a sense the two have become one in the same. The album encapsulates a three phase journey of anger + pain, recalibration + rebirth, and reintegration. The hardest part is realizing and admitting what is there, and from then on things seemingly unravel, in a way I believe is free from words.
[since i was six]
I have experienced a reoccurring dream that centers around a being whom, to this day, I am unsure whether its source is internal or external. In most instances of this dream, I would “wake up” in my bed and look over at my alarm clock, which read 6:66. Thinking nothing of it, I would get out of bed and begin walking towards my door to exit, when suddenly peeking around the corner of my bed, two tiny red dots would begin glowing in the dark. With no chance to react, this being would reveal itself in the near-complete darkness to be a lanky bipedal wolf-like being, with pieces of skin hanging off of its body. In an instant, he would lunge onto me and dig its claws deep into my flesh, twisting my me in opposite directions at the waist until my body was ripped in two. Right at the moment my body would rip into two parts was when I would normally wake up from this dream traumatized, especially given the age I started having these nightmares. This recurring dream would soon take form into many different situations, ranging from me being able to make it to the hallway, only to get torn to shreds as I approached the door to parents room, all the way to playing in my childhood cul-de-sac and seeing the faint outline of his face etched into thin air. Throughout my life I have seen his face etched around spaces I have existed within either as a visitor, or resident.
i desire a bed of roses
The epitome of unadulterated rage towards the uncontrollable, and its constant efforts to negate any attempts I make at making life a little easier, a recurring nightmare manifested into reality. The song represents this dialogue between myself and the merciless world around me, or fight/combat between the two, smashing each other to bits until all that’s left is a bloody pulp and a pile of dead flowers. The space and silence that seeps it’s way into the cracks of this dense force, representing the states of partial dissociation I encounter when being confronted with this crushing weight, followed by a smashing of timbral structures in the collapsing of my mental state, as I slowly come back to my senses, and am present with the reality of my situation.
with ripped thorns (no, i'm me)
As these thorn-like claws dig deeper into the flesh of my mind and soul, a poison is spread deep throughout my body, surging a thick sludge of self-loathing into my veins. My defense systems are chemically stripped from the inside out, causing the walls that once firmly held my sense of self to crumble away in despair. The crashing down of boulders that formed the person I confidently know myself to be, loudly smashing every living thing in my mind that once brought meaning to myself beyond the influence of others. While at first these things are easily ignored, the amorphous nature of this destruction slowly infects my mind into believing it is deserved, with the brainwashed notion that the only constant throughout it all has been me.
crushed (on + by)
Crushed by the delusionally crushed upon, picking up scraps of meaningless actions and piecing them together to make a broken image of my desires, jumping to false conclusions and skipping steps that will eventually prove to have been necessary in the overcoming of a lot of my own self-hatred and bitterness.
in great detail.
Ramblings of paranoid thoughts mixed with the cyclical nature of my life and accompanying social trauma, an expression of rapid shifts in emotional states. The crazed absurdity in a comedic mask assumed to appease the surrounding environment, all the while below the surface referencing gruesome subjects, and depicting all the details of horrific traumatic events all painted atop the words “breathe the air, no one cares, what we have to say”.
an apology to myself
“Who is truly hurt in the process?” I ask myself, undergoing a full decay sequence of the self, fully coming to terms with the fact that despite this trauma being external from me, and rather pushed onto me from the outside, I too have played a significant role in this downward spiral, and that the only way forward is inward. It’s not my fault it rained, but it’s time to clean up the mud I tracked back in.
apology accepted (but)
Something is still not quite right, regardless of the impact of this recent revelation. The confusion continues building as I come to the conclusion that I’ve forgotten something along the way. Time spent navel-gazing has only mystified one of the main reasons for doing any of this:
what is ʍe, without ɯe?
What is the point of any of this if I just sit in my hole and question myself. To learn something without actually ever applying that into a real situation, ultimately renders that thing useless. With new found understanding, I reenter the spaces with care.
some things never change
As my bones crack and joints mold into the right place, I am riddled with an all too familiar undertone of uncertainty chased closely by self-loathing once more, however, something external and unknown slams the door in its face before these feelings enter the room.
my form (the thing)
It’s my form, not yours.
[i’ve kept you in mind]
Thank you ⬡
Final Words
I appreciate you, I appreciate me, I appreciate us.
With love, RUBY
Path of 6 - RUBY
Album Overview:
First and foremost, I want to thank you, the listener, for taking the time to absorb and embrace my work with open ears and mind. I’d like to begin with a concept that spawned into my brain about 8 months ago as of writing this, after searching through old sesame street clips: Path of 6
“In the garden of the queen of six, is where the queen gets her kicks. Walking on a path of bricks, shaped into a number six”
The Path of 6 is a conceptual breakdown of how I have lived my life up to this point, symbolizing a circular path of pain and trauma that has an obvious way out the entire time, only to be ignored out of comfortability within this cycle of distress. This 6 shaped path has led me in circles my entire life, searching for answers along a road I’ve already walked down countless times, essentially depicting textbook insanity. What this concept has helped me understand is that while the reasons I find myself in this loop may be far out of my control, only I have the power to deviate from the comfort of familiarity and exit the cycle. As I have been shaped by this way of thought, so has the album in its creation, and in a sense the two have become one in the same. The album encapsulates a three phase journey of anger + pain, recalibration + rebirth, and reintegration. The hardest part is realizing and admitting what is there, and from then on things seemingly unravel, in a way I believe is free from words.
[since i was six]
I have experienced a reoccurring dream that centers around a being whom, to this day, I am unsure whether its source is internal or external. In most instances of this dream, I would “wake up” in my bed and look over at my alarm clock, which read 6:66. Thinking nothing of it, I would get out of bed and begin walking towards my door to exit, when suddenly peeking around the corner of my bed, two tiny red dots would begin glowing in the dark. With no chance to react, this being would reveal itself in the near-complete darkness to be a lanky bipedal wolf-like being, with pieces of skin hanging off of its body. In an instant, he would lunge onto me and dig its claws deep into my flesh, twisting my me in opposite directions at the waist until my body was ripped in two. Right at the moment my body would rip into two parts was when I would normally wake up from this dream traumatized, especially given the age I started having these nightmares. This recurring dream would soon take form into many different situations, ranging from me being able to make it to the hallway, only to get torn to shreds as I approached the door to parents room, all the way to playing in my childhood cul-de-sac and seeing the faint outline of his face etched into thin air. Throughout my life I have seen his face etched around spaces I have existed within either as a visitor, or resident.
i desire a bed of roses
The epitome of unadulterated rage towards the uncontrollable, and its constant efforts to negate any attempts I make at making life a little easier, a recurring nightmare manifested into reality. The song represents this dialogue between myself and the merciless world around me, or fight/combat between the two, smashing each other to bits until all that’s left is a bloody pulp and a pile of dead flowers. The space and silence that seeps it’s way into the cracks of this dense force, representing the states of partial dissociation I encounter when being confronted with this crushing weight, followed by a smashing of timbral structures in the collapsing of my mental state, as I slowly come back to my senses, and am present with the reality of my situation.
with ripped thorns (no, i'm me)
As these thorn-like claws dig deeper into the flesh of my mind and soul, a poison is spread deep throughout my body, surging a thick sludge of self-loathing into my veins. My defense systems are chemically stripped from the inside out, causing the walls that once firmly held my sense of self to crumble away in despair. The crashing down of boulders that formed the person I confidently know myself to be, loudly smashing every living thing in my mind that once brought meaning to myself beyond the influence of others. While at first these things are easily ignored, the amorphous nature of this destruction slowly infects my mind into believing it is deserved, with the brainwashed notion that the only constant throughout it all has been me.
crushed (on + by)
Crushed by the delusionally crushed upon, picking up scraps of meaningless actions and piecing them together to make a broken image of my desires, jumping to false conclusions and skipping steps that will eventually prove to have been necessary in the overcoming of a lot of my own self-hatred and bitterness.
in great detail.
Ramblings of paranoid thoughts mixed with the cyclical nature of my life and accompanying social trauma, an expression of rapid shifts in emotional states. The crazed absurdity in a comedic mask assumed to appease the surrounding environment, all the while below the surface referencing gruesome subjects, and depicting all the details of horrific traumatic events all painted atop the words “breathe the air, no one cares, what we have to say”.
an apology to myself
“Who is truly hurt in the process?” I ask myself, undergoing a full decay sequence of the self, fully coming to terms with the fact that despite this trauma being external from me, and rather pushed onto me from the outside, I too have played a significant role in this downward spiral, and that the only way forward is inward. It’s not my fault it rained, but it’s time to clean up the mud I tracked back in.
apology accepted (but)
Something is still not quite right, regardless of the impact of this recent revelation. The confusion continues building as I come to the conclusion that I’ve forgotten something along the way. Time spent navel-gazing has only mystified one of the main reasons for doing any of this:
what is ʍe, without ɯe?
What is the point of any of this if I just sit in my hole and question myself. To learn something without actually ever applying that into a real situation, ultimately renders that thing useless. With new found understanding, I reenter the spaces with care.
some things never change
As my bones crack and joints mold into the right place, I am riddled with an all too familiar undertone of uncertainty chased closely by self-loathing once more, however, something external and unknown slams the door in its face before these feelings enter the room.
my form (the thing)
It’s my form, not yours.
[i’ve kept you in mind]
Thank you ⬡
Final Words
I appreciate you, I appreciate me, I appreciate us.
With love, RUBY