Author Archives: John Biscello

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About John Biscello

Originally from Brooklyn, NY, writer, poet, performer, and playwright, John Biscello, has lived in the high-desert grunge-wonderland of Taos, New Mexico since 2001. He is the author of four novels, Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale, Raking the Dust, Nocturne Variations, and No Man’s Brooklyn; a collection of stories, Freeze Tag, two poetry collections, Arclight and Moonglow on Mercy Street; and a fable, The Jackdaw and the Doll, illustrated by Izumi Yokoyama. He also adapted classic fables, which were paired with the vintage illustrations of artist, Paul Bransom, for the collection: Once Upon a Time, Classic Fables Reimagined. His produced, full-length plays include: LOBSTERS ON ICE, ADAGIO FOR STRAYS, THE BEST MEDICINE, ZEITGEIST, U.S.A., and WEREWOLVES DON’T WALTZ.

Words, Silence, Music

Posted on November 10, 2020 by John Biscello

“Therefore, speak, speak at any price, say no matter what, since all words have equal value and all say the same thing, all repeat tirelessly the same call for help.” — Samuel Beckett If we are to take Mister Beckett … Continue reading →

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Paradox

Posted on November 9, 2020 by John Biscello

“If I am not for myself, then who will be for me? If I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?”– from The Torah Paradox is the umbrella blown inside out in stormy weather, as … Continue reading →

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Autumn

Posted on November 9, 2020 by John Biscello

I close my eyes and I see her again, a silhouette, near to distance, and dissolving– the autumn rain taps its seminal code for longing onto the trembling glass of a window closed.

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Burning Down the House

Posted on November 8, 2020 by John Biscello

Grateful to be a contributor to the recently released anthology: As the World Burns: Writers and Artists Reflect on a World Gone Mad (Indie Blue Publishing). The women who spearheaded this project continue to create platforms in the publishing world … Continue reading →

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The Last Days of Jack Kerouac, a film-poem

Posted on November 5, 2020 by John Biscello

1. Setting: A waterfront saloon. The wooden floor thatched in dull golden sawdust plus the acrid scent of piss wafting in from the urinal. 2. Cut to: A broad-shouldered man slumped on his barstool. The camera notices that the legs … Continue reading →

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The Other Election, or, If Prince Were President

Posted on November 3, 2020 by John Biscello

On this day I have cast my vote in electing my soul now and again to serve as my guide, compass, captain and architect in getting through this thing called life, electric word life meaning forever, according to Prince’s prophetic … Continue reading →

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Dreamlife for the Living

Posted on November 3, 2020 by John Biscello

It is really just one long dream interrupted in thorny intervals by fictions that we mistake for realities, the single white feather floating like a tangible sliver of breath on the river’s cyclical surface tells you all you need to … Continue reading →

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Bliss-Following and Fool’s Play

Posted on November 3, 2020 by John Biscello

To follow your bliss you must kiss your demons squarely on their mouths lancing their sealed lips with a flaming tongue perpetrating tango between worlds where love consumes every last thorny bit.

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Backroads

Posted on November 3, 2020 by John Biscello

Traveling mapless backroads, I found heaven looking for me.

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Conscripture

Posted on November 3, 2020 by John Biscello

It is not me you are looking for, it is you. We dress and undress as mirrors, conscripting images to burn and cherish, to reveal and reflect the many sides of a lighted front, a sideways turn, modeling love in … Continue reading →

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