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 three novels: Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale, Raking the Dust, and Nocturne Variations, 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.

The Writing Life

These are the tools of my trade. I have written in spiral-bound notebooks, college-ruled, for a long time. They are always of varying colors. Red, yellow, blue, purple, black. Never green. I write with a Zebra F-402 ballpoint pen, black … Continue reading

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In Search of Lost Time

A meditation on memory, longing, storytelling and spiritual homesickness.

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Street Corner Lore

The red light green light of young love and longing in a world of urban lore. Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn.

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Kissing Anya

Young love, urban lore, coming of age, and the nature of forever. An excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn.

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Glow

Childhood and coke parties. Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn.

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Wendigo

Long-distance shot of a snowy landscape, a tundra. Completely silent. A MAN enters the frame, running. He is wearing a bulky white parka, its fur-lined hood pulled over his head, and flying a fire-orange kite. We continue to see the … Continue reading

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Coils

To caper at the edge, where the seething lyric happens, poetry with slits and fast teeth, where the hours of phenomena are boiled and reduced to a single quivering instant, an umbilical knot of light upon tenderest scraps and coils.

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Ravels

At the wound’s core, dark luscious ravels of text, courting, inviolate measures, the fathomless brood of Beauty’s End.

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Craft

How a writer, cave-timing dark and solitude, annoints an ember by crafting the small hours into a flagrant torch.

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Curse You, Red Baron!

It was Snoopy’s way of living through Charlie Brown’s shame and ignominy, his low self-esteem. Dogs are sensitive that way. Snoopy co-opted Charlie’s gnawing desire for a heroic life, or at least to do something right, to feel right inside … Continue reading

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