John Green And Tumblr

John Green And Tumblr

Tumblr is probably the best stage out there for discovering inventive substance of different fandoms, from pics to gifs and from animes to Television events. T'is said to be a resort of fangirls and the sites have discovered a taking after on the online networking all in all.

The flexibility of expression frequently brings up issues yet past a sure point of confinement – one which isn't generally allied with pessimistic senses of an individual – it is stupid and crazy taking care of business. Such is Tumblr, not without a dim side, with a client keeping up that John Green is a pedophile in light of his extremist devotees.

It began when A Tumblr client passing by the client name virjn hammered John Green and his books in a post.

The post read:

'I wager John Green thinks individuals don't care for him in light of the fact that he's a "dork" or a geek or whatever. At the point when as a general rule this is on the grounds that he's a killjoy who panders to high school young ladies with the goal that he can store up some strange faction like after. What's more, it's generally young ladies who feel misconstrued, you know, and he makes a special effort to make them feel imperative and alluring. which is fucking unusual? Additionally he has an online networking vicinity that is proportionate to that father of a child in your companion bunch who dependably volunteers to "direct" the pool parties and hurries his yard seat near every one of the young ladies.'




The client has subsequent to expelled the post from his or her own particular Tumblr page, however it has been reposted by different clients – with John's answer in it – more than 46,000 times. John Green's answered to the post all alone Tumblr account, gruffly denying all the ludicrous allegations.

John Green composed :

'I'm burnt out on seeing the dialect of social equity - critical dialect doing imperative work – abused as an approach to dehumanize others and treat them scornfully. So we all look for (and try to share) the shock that goes with shock and outrage. As studies have demonstrated, the confounded dopamine surge that accompanies upright irateness is capable, and I'm humoring it basically by reacting to the unbelievable allegation that my work is some way or another confirmation of sexual misuse.

Be that as it may, the shock cycle is depleting, keeping in mind there are magnificent samples of shock powering long haul, beneficial reactions to shamefulness – We Require Different Books and the Inspire both ring a bell – again and again the Web moves from jar to jar, from disdain to scorn, always persuaded of our own nobility and the world's detestable. Furthermore, becoming involved with that is extremely excruciating.

I understand that will appear to be advantaged to a large portion of you (and it is), or like a reason (possibly it's that as well), or ailing in compassion (perhaps so), and I'm certain there is bounty here to deconstruct and uncover my different inadequacies (which are army).

In any case, this quits being a profitable spot for me to be in discussions in case I'm not permitted to not be right, if my conciliatory sentiments are not recognized nearby my wrongdoings, and in case I'm not treated like a man.

I think right now it's difficult to keep on utilizing tumblr as a part of the way I've utilized it since 2011. My life is distinctive (in ways that are both great and terrible); this group is distinctive (in ways that are both great and awful); the world is distinctive (in ways that are both great and awful).'

I'm not furious or anything like that. I simply require some separation for my prosperity, DFTBA. (Remember to be magnificent).

To be clear, sending hate to individuals who say this stuff is counter-profitable and just proceeds with the shock cycle, so kindly don't manhandle anybody. Much obliged.'

One fan additionally pummeled on Green for utilizing "retarded" in his book Paper Towns.

To which John Green answered : 'Better believe it, I think twice about it. At the time, I thought a writer's obligation was to reflect dialect as I discovered it, yet now… " he wrote in the first Tweet, including: 'after eight years, I don't feel like a book about refining the other profited from dehumanizing language.

I do not really like John Green but such accusations, they suck. Humans are jealous by nature.
As to his fan following, they can do whatever they please.

Blogging About Fandoms.

My invisible readers might be wondering why I am inactive lately.

The prime reason is, college.

College has left me no time in my Internet life, and that is saying something.

I am doing Diploma in Civil Engineering.

Well, there's more.

 My website Fun With Fandoms is something I am devoted to. I post everything about fandoms there, ranging from anthing to anything.

Like, there's this Harry Potter Riddles I was once high on.

What would I do, I would write them like I had no life. Time by time my addictions changed and so did I, as a result of which I am not so high on them as I once was.

You might not be wondering what is on my reading list. Let me state them down -

1. The Princess Bride.
2. A Dance With Dragons.
3. The Princess And The Queen (A Song of Ice and Fire novella)
4. Historical Non-fiction : War of the Roses.

There's a show I am high on. And that is, again, saying something. Vikings it is, Vikings.

An updated reader of my life will notice I am a fan of violence and historical fiction. It is one such.

Anyway, this was supposed to be a short post. Turns out I wrote too much.

I too have wings.

The sun wakes up,
For the dawn beacons
The dark wings of night
Have fluttered away.
The air is mellow
The grass green and pure
And daffodils blush slightly, too
For the dews have kissed them deep.
Birds, big and small,
Sing alike, a melody lovely
To their songs the bees hymn
Making a duet in an ethereal way.
Spreading its arms
The mountain stands high and proud
And with benevolence in their veins
The rivers merry tears weep.
As the sunrays
Join the dance of life
My heart leaps to the blooming branches
And I am delivered from strife.
The birds know it, too
And their chorus keeps caroling.
As I step out to embrace the earthly aroma
I too have wings.

To love her is to die.

When I made up my mind to write, I was thinking of writing a Valentines Day Poem but it turned out to be a sad monologue. This is what I wrote - 

Have you ever ran into someone you love whom you know you should not?  You are spel bound by the entire female charisma they have. Yet you pretend to be non-chalant for all the world to see. You tell yourself it is just infatuation and it would be alright. But in your heart of hearts, you know you are wrong. You can be non impassive on the outside, but not inside. You are that hard coconut that if penetrated, would be soft enough to break to pieces. Yet you wish, the liquid inside goes dry and you are alike on both sides. You might ignore them, or attend them less, but all your heart yearns is to break your own virtual shackles and be with them.
There are times they're so close to you that you get real serious you might blurt out your feelings. When you do, you make it appear one joke, and the very jocular yourself mocks the serious yourself. You portray yourself as one jolly-jocular-I-was-just-kidding-guy. They may not sense it, nor do your own senses, for your own numbness addles your brains and all you want is to run away. But then again, they're in your head wherever you go.
They do open up their heart. You want to console them, but you are cautious to stay as distant as possible; for you are afraid when you console them and tell them how much you care about them, they might still underestimate it. You want to say every possible thing to soothe them, but these daily comforts are so clichéd, you chuck it.
And what if they have feelings for someone else? What if you are their back up friend, the one with dry shoulders for their wet eyes? You know, even if your shoulders are dry, that thing in your rib cage isn't when they press their head against it. It cries with vigour more than the amplitude of your heartbeats, for even if your heart races it is nothing compared to the breaking dam of feelings. The worst part of it is when you know  they are heading towards a heartbreak but you don’t want to point it out lest they instead point out your jealousy. And if they do, would they feel for you? Would they notice your sullen eyes for the first time? And when they do, wont you already be heartless to them as their comeuppance? Would you be that willing, after all this time? Is that possible, or your foresight is playing along? Maybe, just maybe, life is being a bitch.
So you just say you are taken and do all that it takes to keep your equanimity a few seconds long enough just to burst into tears after they are gone, or rather, you have walked away. You are vaguely aware how your pride and prejudice has taken toll over you but you are not strong enugh to stop crying. You don’t become heartless, you just use your heartless.

To love them is to die, everyday.

Window of light.

How do I get rid of this ghost? I don’t know. The ghost is a shadow in the dark that has made me too vulnerable to light a torch. In the blurring brawl of my conundrums, I know I should be strong enough to stand against this ghost even if it afflicts me to the extent that I scratch and tear off my own skin. I should amass all the light of this world, all the valor I can muster to slit the deadly throat of this ghost. It haunts me. It is one tyrannical foe. A dilettante to agonize me, whose aim is to kill my spirit and shatter my equanimity, the head-high me that day by day craves to live a cheerful life. I am but a cripple, endeavoring to reach that window of light and it is a belligerent fiend that kicks me to death. Something deep, deep inside me admonishes me something. Something I cant hear. Something assuring a quantum of solace. My head is dizzy and all I want is this pain to end. All I pray to God now is to deliver me. I am buffeted in the ribbs suddenly by my enigmatic foe. He grows strong. I want to cry but tears wont come and I don’t cry lest this anathema mocks me. But there is this window in the farthest corner. The rays of light have defeated the darkness there and are still, as if beaconing me. I lay giving in. I should atleast try to stand. I should atleast stand. The vague song in the oblivion of my mind amplifies. It bolsters me, by words I don’t know. I am kicked and smacked as I stand, but I stand. It is as if walking in the snare of a giant spider. However this spider is human, I know somehow. I am closer to the window now. Closer. I trod with the time that is passing so slow that my ragged breathing could have made a thousand years. I have walked through him. I smile one twisted smile. I know because it takes an effort to smile. I have made that effort. I have. The foe is frail and I am strong. I scoff at him, distantly feeling the pain in my spine. I commence walking with a paradoxical pride. This pride is foreign. My shuffling self is long gone. As fast as it came, my smile fades away. I don’t see the window. I am in a hull of sheer darkness. Just the time when my deep breaths alter to shallow and adrenaline courses hard, my limbs are delibitated. I fall again. I don’t hear the song now. In a jolt I realize I didn’t hear it before I fell. I am a wretch again, now that I was healed. Or was I healed? I see it. A slit in the dark. I cripple towards it. I am digressed, often by the kicks on my head. But I don’t mind. It is not the time to mind. My gaze is pivoted at the light. My pain is mitigating, as though I am caressed by a swift breeze through that window. It is beautiful, I tell you, that window of light. It glows with grace just as I gaze with a smile, a smile distinct from the previous one. My callous enemy has lagged behind just as my hands are contentious to touch the window. I smile again, my smile coherently widening with the flow of light in the space, just so the intensity has driven the ghost in me again. It is a mirror.

Prayer One.

Thou hast cast a light,
Over the tenebrous track,
That giveth me now a reason to smile.
Thou knowth, thou seeth,
The solitary spirit that is me;
Shall I ak for more, dear Lord?
Thou hast enlightened my sorry soul,
Bestowed upon me thy grace
Perchance my cupidity maketh me vile
So prithee answer me, O Samaritan,
Should I ever digress from this wise-path,
Would your eternal torch guide me, dear Lord?

Read love poems here.

Prayer One.

Thou hast cast a light,
Over the tenebrous track,
That giveth me now a reason to smile.
Thou knowth, thou seeth,
The solitary spirit that is me;
Shall I ak for more, dear Lord?
Thou hast enlightened my sorry soul,
Bestowed upon me thy grace
Perchance my cupidity maketh me vile
So prithee answer me, O Samaritan,
Should I ever digress from this wise-path,
Would your eternal torch guide me, dear Lord?

Read love poems here.

Childhood Days

This is a poem I wrote on my childhood days. I miss them for real.

I miss those days,
Brimming with innocence,
I'd stray the gardens green,
Cherishing the fragrance.
I'd have a smile, always
I believe a genuine one,
Smiling randomly at strangers,
Gave me so much fun.
I'd this fluffy cheeks-
Always to be kissed,
I'd always wonder,
Why it makes them blissed?
My mom would take me,
To the temples where dwelled,
Statues of spirits still
And had me prayers prayed.
I'm no worries to be vexed,
No wrinkles on my face,
Ready to soar I was,
High away from my nest.
Chocolates and candies;
A delight to savour,
My dad would always gift,
Never saying me never.
Perhaps it is,
The freedom I had;
To make me this guy,
Stubborn for his fads.
Maybe it is,
The amount of love I received,
That I felt no pity,
For the girls I decieved.
The innonce that I flourished,
In the garden of my mind,
Erased as the days passed
And I grew rude and unkind.
Forget of smiling,
Everything seems boring.,
Wings of this bird,
Cut amidst the soaring.
If the 'revered',
Grants me a second flight,
I'd fly earnestly,
With the golden light.
To the horizon,
I'm endeavouring to sway,
An injured soul scouring,
His childhood days..

Read The Best Love Poems at Short Love Poems

Tempted

From the meadow yonder

The Gorgon scurried;

Lost inside the witty woods,

Was a soul vexed and worried.

Stalking its quarry sub rosa,

She donned a a mask of fay;

Her exhilirant aroma,

Succumbed the grass gay.

Dews watched desperately;

As she allured the soul supine

He could see Cupid shooting,

As he esteemed the Evangeline.

Endowed with ambroisal beauty,

Evading the darkness she gleamed;

He walked to her with bated breath,

An Angel from Heaven she seemed.

Imprudent the soul blind in lust,

Reckoned her the solace to his strife;

The Medusa concealed deep down;

Athirst to take his life.

In the proximity of her grace,

A rhyth divine; breathing her breath;

Too tempted to realise he was,

Strangling straight to his death.

Affrighted eyes sunk in dubiety,

Glared her pupils turning red;

Avalanche of pain he gulped,

His last breath he breathed.

To the temptation of a habitue,

He'd fallen a paltry prey;

About her shoulders tasseled aegis,

Absconding the stone she made out her way.


Liked this poem? Also Read Deep Romantic Love Poems

The Secret Lover - PART I

"Slow down, boy," a passerby shouted mockingly. He was passionately showing off his Karizma ZMR, a rare scenario in my town. With what seemed like the velocity of light, my heart pounded. Reluctantly my neck swerved and I was glaring at her bungalow. My bike was slowing down and so was time. She was there in the balcony, chuckling as she talked on the phone. For a moment, I was quaking with my worst nightmare, but then I thought who I am to care anyway. The two hundred metres between us were enough to hide my tears. It all started in 6th grade, so I always reckoned she was nothing but a crush, a result of my incessant movie-addiction. While watching RHTDM, I would be engrossed in making out a story of my life. It was when I was debating over what her voice would be like, when I was interrupted. "Excuse me, Where should I sit? This is my first day of this school." "Lata Mangeshkar", I muttered. Her voice was the same as Lata Mangeshkar's. Her eyesbrows raised. "There," I gestured to the last row. "Thank you." She said. From the corner of my eyes, I watched her. Pink top and jeans, hair in a pony-tail and a peculiar glint in her eyes. "Which school?" I asked, fighting my urge to adore her as she sipped water. "Adarsh..." Before she could utter more, a great hullaballoo had already befallen. "Oh Arya, welcome to the school! Aww this dress!" "Not of a great deal for the Joshis," the new admission said. Her last word concise. 'TUNE MERE JANA, KABHI NAHI JANA' my phone ringed and I woke up from my naustalgic reverie. It was Akshara, my girlfriend. "Hey baby? What's up? Where're you? You weren't at the Batch Seperation Test. Afraid of IIT, eh?" "I am home. Wasn't feelin' well." "Otay otay, come soon. Missing you. They're starting alcohol today." "I'll be there tomorrow" Akshara was the sixth girl in my life. Hexane, as I called her. Nevertheless, the reaction with Methane was the most perplexing one. Since five years we'd not spoken a word. None of the students of opposite sex talked in the class. Narrow mentality, I tell you. Inspite of my relationships, Arya flashed my mind everyday. I had maintained a diary that comprised of 150 poems on her. These poems were the 150 encounters I'd with her that caused me equal number of mini Heart-Attacks. I stood there on the highway, my eyes glaring at her. No, she won't recognize you Aryan. Not until you dwindle the distance that departed you since five years. She won't notice you unless you cease being shy and show her you love her. Before I could know, my bike had paced half the distance. Maybe it wanted to prove that it was superior to my bicycle, which would have been too fragile to start. No, she won't have a boyfriend, I convinced myself as her chuckling intensified. Her chirping had paused. Our eyes met. I watched her and watched her, and she stared back, flabbergasted. A guy so reckless in my town is a guy who will get his face red soon. Two minutes later, she ran inside. Alright Arya, it was a cue for me to leave, I thought.

For Reference, You May Like To Read The Secret Lover Poem

Heaven's on Earth.

"That's enough, Pooja." I scorned her, my eyes blazing. Twelfth time she'd splashed water over me.

"Why, Aryan, I love you like this, it gives me... goosebumps" She grinned and blushed.

"Oh, does it? Perhaps a kiss will switch you to normal again."
She moaned. I could feel her tears on my cheeks.
"I missed you, Aryan."

"I missed you too," I said, "But I ought to make myself on my own"

"I know." She was all tears, sobbing against my chest.
I stayed in Nagpur, 200 km away from her. The hustle and bustle of my job left me just evenings, to spare on the phone.
"I think I've a heck lot fantasies, for our honeymoon"
I gave her my I-am-crazy-for-you look. She pinched me.
"Sure, you do. My Fifty Shades." She said, blushing as we were strolling along the banks of a reservoir.

"Where?" I asked.

"Umm. I've in my mind. The Jewel of Kedah."

"How many gems in this Jewel, milady?"

"104, Cap'n"

"Aye. What makes me heartie scour there?"

"A myth, Cap'n." Her eyes were scintillating as she continued. "The legend of true love bet'n two spiritual souls."

"Aye! Get on the deck then!" I said and we kissed again.
A thud on my door interrupted me. Beside the door were my pictures with Pooja, showcasing our excursions to random Historical places. Ajanta-Ellora, Elephanta, all were there.
"I don't want to go out, Dad." I shouted.
How could I go out when the only reason for me to venture had been taken away from me, by that Almighty, to the Heavens. How could I go for a drive, for every drive reminded me of her last drive? I wanted to be alone. Sunk in her memories.
"Aryan?"
The voice wasn't my Dad's. It was Pooja's mother. She handed me a note and walked off. There was a peculiar glint in her eyes. The note read -
A reddish-brown Eagle, in colloquial Malay,

Yonder there, Embracing the Thai,

Just like us; Entwined together,

Away from strife; Away from fie.

On sun-drenched beaches,

Walking hand-in-hand,

Two spiritual lovers unite,

Straying the enchanting islands.

Magnificient mountains,

Watch us making love;

Cruising the mangroves we soar,

Evading the flora foe.

I was standing on the Langkawi island, usurping the reason why Pooja devoured Malaysia. A few ripples ticked my feet, while the breeze whispered, 'I love you, Aryan.'

Yes Pooja, we deduced the legend of true love between spiritual souls. 'Heaven's on Earth, milady'.

And The King Beackoned To His Subjects - PART II

She arrived at 8:05, Ms. Arya Sarnaik; my ex classmate. It was she who'd procurred the coin. We seated on the marble seats in the temple of Balaji, built by a Maratha Sardar Bhawani Kalu in 1779.

From the corner of my eyes, I noticed her feeling uncomfortable. I was quaking too. She broke the silence.
"Have you heard the history of this temple, Aryan?" 
"I preferred reading it." I said. 
Silence Again. 
"I'm confused whether the myth is true." 
"Don't you believe in your own King?" She needed answers.
 "More than anyone. But people love to make a fuss." I said, as a girl waved her hand at us. Ajay was gone. Bastards will always be bastards. 
"What if the Myth is true?" She was furious now. 
The Balaji Temple, as myths said, had a hidden passage to a distant fortress, most probably Raigad and that it was dug by Shivaji . However I hardly believed it. The temple was constructed after Shivaji passed away. 
"Avanti, I would leave that myth rathar undiscussed. Concerning the coin, elaborate for Heaven's Sake. Where did you get it?" 
"This same temple." She replied quickly. 
"Yes, the myth is true and the proof is in front of you." 
Was it a rhyme? 
Reading my mind, she started again. 
"Yes Aryan, though it is rumoured there's a secret passage, it ain't completely a truth. However, the little time I was in, I can say it's a chamber. And it is just beneath us." 
I looked into her eyes, yes she told no falsehoods. Bedazzled, not by the mascara that embroidered her calm eyes, but the sight of her walking underground, beneath the place we were seating, I jumped in astonishment. 
"HUH? Avanti, do you even know what have you sought! The secret passage! One of those that remain forbidden in the forts of Maharashtra! What did the chamber contain? And how did you know the entrance? Where it is? How did you get in?" 
"Calm down. There's enough time"
 She said as she raised her hand. I followed her index finger. There, where Ajay and his girlfriend had been seating a few moments before, was a slit in the grand structure, a small gap to contain Ajay and Neha at once- heart by heart. 

*

 "Are you sure? Is this the entrance?" 
We stood parallel to the rear wall of the edifice, our eyes squinting at the slit. It was decored with cobwebs. Just beside the fissure was a three feet tall opening from which the worshippers departed in order to do the Pradaksheena around the temple. An old man gave me a wry look from the bars, as his wife kneeled to escape. 
I'd been in that fissure before. A tough regimen as I remember. 

A year ago, I was nearly struck in it, when I endeavoured to find out if there was actually an opening. Coming out, suffocating and sweating, I'd become a subject to children's giggling; their filthy noses cupped by their palms. Yes, I smelled of histoplasmosis fungus. 
How the hell did this girl tackled the feat? 
I imagined Arya, wrapped in Bat droppings. It wasn't a great sight to imagine as I recalled her beautiful array at our School Annual Gathering, four years ago. 
"It was dark inside. I stumbled upon the stairs which were many. Horrified as the room smelled of blood with each step I took, I had this Hon that came beneath my heels." 
Blood? Strange. 
"Did you climb down all the stairs?" I was curious. 
"Hardly five."
 Arya's courage was breathtaking. I'd never knew she was so brave. However, regarding the times she complained against me as I eve-teased, she wasn't vulnerable too. 
"But how did you enter from here?" I asked, apparently myself. The roughtwalls had no trace of any door. Arya quickly produced a paper from her pockets and handed over to me. 
"Let's see how you incur it". 
I began to read. With every letter I read, adrenaline rushed in my veins, while the great gong of the temple sent sparkles down my skin. 
  "Glory of thy fortitude fadeth away
As every stream that 'ntwine her,
Naive too to splash against the dust..
Esteem but those whose ardor,
Strive to laud His finesse,
He who's reverred the first."

And The King Beackoned To His Subjects.. PART I

As stealth as a cat lurking in the shadows, the silhoutte approached the leisure-flickered antique, while his lips incessantly hymned a ballad - 
"Awake... Awake the braveheart. All the things you owed, are broken apart."
 His words resonated through every corner of the dark chamber and echoed back to him; as if thousands of souls were pleading, repeating the same ballad. The silhoutte took a dream breath and gripped a tapering, slender armour that adorned his perfect masculine hip. It was a sheath. Nevertheless, the heavy metal hardly had any effect on him. A few seconds after savouring the sight of the sword that illuminated in the reddish glow, his hands trembled. To his fret, there was a loud thud of footsteps in the corridors outside and a bunch of Septuagenerians rushed in, breaking down the door in one shot and munching down the echoes. The blur metal plate on the marvelous tiles read - 'Indian Armour, Royal Collection Trust'. 

"Awake", the victim said again, and his words fade away...
"Chya Aila Tuzya," said Ajay, triumphantly smacking me with my pillow. How dare he do that!
"Huh?" Annoyed, taken aback, I jumped out of my bed.
"There's someone who intends to meet you," he said, his eyes knowing a secret. Before I could mutter a curse, Ajay bent down to me. "Balaji Temple, at 8 a.m."
As he finished, he handed over to me a peculiar coin, and clutched my fist. He gaved me a completely bizarre smile and dashed off. Confused, I opened by fist and stared at the lustrous coin. I could feel my jaw drop to the floor and rebound. The coin was pure Gold, enscribbled, and all I could decipher at the moment were the four numbers in Devanagri - year 1664. *
 "This can't be!" cried Ajay as we stood inside the large walls of the temple waiting for someone I was dying to meet.
Surmising who would possess such a rare antique in my city, and why wants to meet me, my mind was brimming with queries. 
"This can't be real, Aryan, is it?" asked Ajay, flipping the Hon from one palm to other, equally struck by the weight of pure Gold. Yes dude, It is real. Real for all the money in the world. Symbol of freedom from foreign tyranny and establishment of a sovereign state; a state and management so perfect that it highly influenced the politcians in today's world. A coin issued by Chattrapati Shivaji Maharaj himself.