Author Archives: John Biscello

About John Biscello

Originally from Brooklyn, NY, writer, poet, spoken word performer, and playwright, John Biscello now lives in Taos, New Mexico. He is the author of two novels: Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale and Raking the Dust, and a collection of stories, Freeze Tag. His fiction and poetry has appeared in: Art Times, nthposition, The Wanderlust Review, Ophelia Street, Caper, Polyphony, Dilate, Militant Roger, Chokecherries, Farmhouse, BENT, The 555 Collective, Instigator, Brass Sopaipilla, The Iconoclast, Adobe Walls, Kansas City Voices, and the Tishman Review. His blog--Notes of an Urban Stray--can be read at johnbiscello.blogspot.com. Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale was named Underground Book Reviews 2014 Book of the Year.

David Lynch’s Room to Dream

Review of the new bio-memoir, Room to Dream, written by David Lynch and Krisitine McKenna. “For the past forty somewhat years, David Lynch has dreamscaped a long day’s journey into night, taking audiences on a hallucinated tour through the underworld … Continue reading

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Decree

If you are wondering what is happening to the earth, or what that sound is you hear at night, halfway between dream and mortar, rest easy, it is simply women waking up to move mountains, by order of the Moon’s … Continue reading

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Nimbically Yours

Piers, the nimbic embodiment of all that there is, right now. New Romanticism in the air. Nocturne.  It’s what clouds eat for breakfast.

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Swinger

Piers, at play, in the swingland of shadows and thinned veils.

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Wings and Prayers

“Armed with burning patience, we shall enter the splendid cities.”–Arthur Rimbaud Piers, rocking the morphlife, growing her wings. Nocturne rising. Pinkmilk dawn on its tender heels.

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What Dreams May Come

Piers, cloud-crowned, reflectively slotted in her shadowlife. Nocturne on the horizon.    

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Uncover Girl

Full cover spread of Nocturne Variations, coming this November.

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Veils

Veils thin, and purple, to reveal those between worlds– Do not be so sure.

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Apparitional

Trudging through fresh dusk, apparitions leave no prints– twilight becomes them.

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Scarring

There are stories, chanced to be heard in silent scars– listen with your eyes.

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