/lit/ - Literature

this is also schizophrenic ramblings, but well written

>>19473488

>>19465380

Depressing throughout but uplifting at the end.

Rupert Sheldrake, The Science Delusion

Then read pic related.

In which anons post their own work, in an effort to increase readership thereof.

How do I publicise my book, /lit/? Nobody's buying it. When I post my writing on here people usually seem to enjoy it. I don't want to make phoney accounts to bump up the ratings etc. So far I have sold two copies -- one unknown, while the other turned out to be my girlfriend -- which was nice of her, but still a bit disappointing.

Bump. Also my book.

I am listening now and I like your accent -- although I can't place it.

(1/2) It was in that shadow-world between waking and dreaming - the half-reality where logic remains suspended but lucidity returns, that Tarci saw a giant tick crawl out of his floor. It was the size of a terrier, its white, bulbous body gleaming in the dark. He tried to shout, but his throat was caught in a paroxysm of fear. He was lying on his front on the floor, head turned to the side. The tick sat motionless about two metres to his right. Its eight legs clutched the carpet, clownishly arranged at the front of its shrunken abdomen. Small white hairs covered its slick surface. It was the most revolting thing Tarci had ever seen.

He tried to move, but his limbs refused to budge. The tick’s mouth parts began to twitch. He tried again, but only succeeded in fluttering his fingers. The tick turned to face him, moving with erratic jerks. It paused, then scuttled along the floor towards his face. Tarci’s voice became unstuck, and he began to scream. Excited by the noise, the tick grasped his head with its forelegs, and began climbing up onto his back, its underside sliding a trail of mucus through his hair. His screams tore at his throat, punctuated by gasps for air. The foul insect crawled around his back, selecting the softest skin, then stopped with its head hovering over Tarci’s liver. It stroked the skin, and then, with a wet scraping sound, began to dig its mandibles into his flesh, burrowing its head into his back. The pain was excruciating. For a few seconds the harsh chomping drowned out Tarci’s voice, then the tick stopped, its head firmly embedded in Tarci’s body. The pain faded, replaced by an overwhelming sensation of nausea. As his screams transformed into retches of disgust, a hideous sucking noise began to emanate from within him. The tick was feeding on his blood. It had invaded his body and begun to steal, forcing him into an abhorrent congress.

He watched as the colour faded from his skin, replaced with a translucent grey. The tick grew in weight, pushing down on his spine and crushing him into the floor. Slowly the movement began to return to his limbs, but the tick had become too heavy, and he could only twist his neck round and watch as its body ballooned into the space above them, filling the room with its creamy expanse. It pushed against the ceiling with a rubberised squeak, the colossal envelope sliding into the crannies of the apartment.

(1/2) Gradually he managed to increase his speed until he was walking at a normal pace, wincing with each step. His morning runs had been replaced with lengthy strolls, marching down the street in the direction of the river. He passed ancient women, doddering out of the bingo hall and into Farmfoods (“the frozen food specialists”). He passed expensive cars waiting at traffic lights, their owners revving as they commuted through this failed neighbourhood. He passed the unemployed, the deprived, the unwanted; the armies of homeless welfare-dependant drug-addicted pregnant half-caste ugly young tracksuited alcoholic unvoting immigrant uneducated whoring failures; detritus of the Big Society, unwilling to take control, to take jobs, to look after their children; these disgusting, inhuman, evil primates that leached off the true working class, the wealth creators; the decent hard-working ordinary English white agnostic common-sense normal pro-business sensible ale-drinking car-owning spaniel-walking middle-aged upstanding folk, grandad built the empire; oh come off it mate, leave it, yeah? I’m not racist but, you know, you know how it is, now of course I’m in business so I understand, you’ve got to let the market rule, it’s just a coincidence, statistics can prove anything, yeah they’re all the same aren’t they, fucking muslims, coming over here, the cunts, the fucking cunts, stealing our jobs, living on welfare, raping our daughters, the terrorists, did you hear? Did you hear about that? Did you see what they did? Of course you don’t hear about that on the BBC, it’s political correctness gone fucking mad, that’s what it is, the fucking spazz, the fucking nigger cunt bitch, look what she did, look what she did to Britain.

I finished it.

Post your own work (pic related)
Last time I got to read some interesting stuff from some guy's blog

This is also /lit/-written, if we're shilling.

Post your own work only (pic related).