Ronie Dinosaur

Thank you for reading so closely. You didn’t misunderstand- you felt it exactly. The fatigue is real: forced to live, forced to ask, Read more from here...

Ronie Dinosaur Chapter 74 - Projection - I see myself My own self- projected onto the vast canvas of the world- and I name it the pattern of the universe. I am not what emerges after the act. I already am- Read more from here...

Ronie Dinosaur Chapter 69 - Discharge Me Think. Think. Think. Why am I here? This universe is a rehab center, treating your addiction to knowing yourself- until you stop asking, Who am I? Read more from here...

I walk. Not because I am brave, and not because I am lost, but because stopping would require a lie. Walking is the only posture my character can hold without collapsing. I was born between two zeros. Before me, nothing. After me, nothing again. In between, this body learned hunger, this mind learned patterns, and this heart learned thirst. Consciousness only learned one thing: it does not want to end. Everything else is decoration. The world taught me early that existence is transactional. Smile correctly, bend at the right angle, desire the approved objects, and you may be granted warmth. I refused the performance. I did not refuse love; I refused the counterfeit. The refusal cost me everything. People say loneliness is the absence of others. They are wrong. Loneliness is being intact in a world that rewards fracture. It is being original where copies are easier to circulate. I did not lose people; I was never selected by the system that distributes them. I carried a heart that wanted to give without invoice. The world answered with rates. Every touch asked for currency-money, status, compromise, obedience. When I could not pay, I was instructed to disappear politely. So I did. I disappeared while remaining alive, which is a more difficult discipline than death. Read more from here...

Ronie Dinosaur Chapter 10 – It Grosses Me Out Let me tell it straight. The fame I want is private, measured one witness at a time, validated only in the dark by the reflection that never lies. Read more from here...

Just like the dumbest kid in class who blurts out “two plus two,” and the whole room claps because the bar is on the floor-that’s how it often feels with her. It’s not that she’s done something extraordinary; people just offer support out of instinct, the way we help whoever looks like the underdog. While she offers only intimacy, and a man offers intimacy, love, money, effort, protection, a family name, and everything else, society still acts as if she is the generous one: “Thank you for giving us your divine intimacy.” Accepting a man purely for his money becomes the very proof of the lack-of intellect, strength, and character. The applause is never for merit; it’s scarcity dressed as virtue. Another voice inside me knows the truth: not every woman is a whore. I just happened to meet the worst of them, again and again, until my sample size became my worldview. A starving man blames bread for not feeding him. I blamed every woman for the ones who broke me. This isn’t philosophy. This is the fifth stage of grief-after denial, anger, bargaining, depression: self-abuse. Now they promote her to “equal.” A woman who is greedy from the start is not worthy of being entitled to “equal ability.” Next the gorilla will demand a seat at the table because it learned to peel a banana. The monkey will grab a microphone and insist it can sing. The female donkey will bray, “I also have a pussy-so am I not equal to woman the way woman is now equal to man?” Equality reduced to a punchline where the only requirement is owning the same hole. Read more from here...

I was silenced at my questions- each one met with a quiet no. No one ever saw the artist’s heart hammering inside me, the poet’s tongue, the philosopher’s gaze. Read more from here...

It’s my job to roar. When Ronie Dinosaur roars, even Godzilla looks like a toy lizard. Godzilla’s roar is sound ripped from the throat- loud, radioactive, cinematic. Ronie’s roar comes from deeper, Read more from here...

He ran carrying the corpse of Sati on his shoulder, asking the sky, “What is this weight? Why me?” I run with empty fists clenched so tightly the knuckles bleed, daring the same sky: “Look me in the eye. Stop whining. Stop cheating. Fight fair.” My arms are not open in surrender; Read more from here...

Imagine an arrogant cosmic salesman offering you this life again- a full do-over, new skin, clean slate. What would you do? Me? I’d let him live his current life for a single moment- Read more from here...