I am excited to announce the release of The Jackdaw and the Doll. This dark and wonder-winged fable, which I wrote, was illustrated in ink-pen drawing and sumi-e by Izumi Yokoyama. And for those who are familiar with, and fans and supporters of Miss Yokoyama’s hauntingly exquisite artwork, Jackdaw marks her debut as a book illustrator. Jackdaw available here.
Coming March 2021: The Jackdaw and the Doll (written by John Biscello, illustrated by Izumi Yokoyama.
THE JACKDAW AND THE DOLL: K. leads a double life. Timid office clerk by day, storyteller by night. But not just any storyteller. Transforming into a jackdaw, K. takes secret night-flights around the city, collecting moments of inspiration. Confronted by sickness, and “The Shroud” which has haunted him since childhood, K., joined by his new love, Dora, moves away from home to The City of Birds. It is there that he will meet a young girl, heartbroken over her lost doll, and be given a golden chance to share the healing magic of storytelling.
A fable about love, compassion and creativity, inspired by a story about the writer, Franz Kafka.
Got to contribute, as a writer, to this wonderful, New Mexico-based film project, honoring and celebrating the Rio Grande River. Rio Grande Serenade is being released as a docu-series, with the first episode focused on “River Guides.” Produced by Taos-UNM Digital Media Arts, and directed by Peter Walker.
My interview on the podcast, What’s Up ABQ, is now streaming (2/10). I had a blast talking with Chris and Ryan, not only about my new poetry book, Moonglow on Mercy Street, but also the world of comics, Choose Your Own Adventures, a Brooklyn childhood, influences and inspirations, and living for the past two decades in the alternative worldscape that is New Mexico.
Childhood. Sometimes it feels like a piece of hard candy I swallowed long ago, and that hard candy remains stuck in my throat. Most of the time I am unaware of its presence, but then something will shift and I will feel it in my chest, something stuck there like a rock or calcified lozenge, and I can’t stop thinking about it. Fixating on it. I want to cough it up and see that undigested bit of hard candy resting in my palm, right in the center of my palm, tangible evidence that it is finally out of me, or I want to reach down into my throat, way down in there, past all my words and defenses, and pull out the saliva-soaked hard candy, pinch it between my fingers, saying—There you are, you little bastard.
Childhood. Consolidated into a single edible metaphor, a harmless piece of candy you’d find in a glass dish at your grandmother’s.
When I close my eyes, I can see everything. And there is nowhere to go.