Author Archives: John Biscello

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About John Biscello

Originally from Brooklyn, NY, novelist, poet, performer, playwright and filmmaker, John Biscello, has lived in the high-desert grunge-wonderland of Taos, New Mexico since 2001. He is the author of six novels, Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale, Raking the Dust, Nocturne Variations, No Man’s Brooklyn, The Last Furies, and No One Dreams in Color; 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 plays have been staged and performed both nationally and internationally.

Frame

Posted on May 22, 2026 by John Biscello

Sepia scraps of filmreel burnt around the edges flickering to animate and revive the magnetic shavings of a life soundly projected. The genetics of cinema are always hard at work in the nimble and forgiving dark.

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Distribution

Posted on May 22, 2026 by John Biscello

Engraved in the paranthetical shadows of intensely subjective cinema, I cited myself, watching myself, submerged in a pooling coven of ghosts whose bluest breath of want revived me in fleeting doses. I knew that if I kept watching I would … Continue reading →

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Wraith

Posted on May 22, 2026 by John Biscello

Memory as spectral residue and gauzy motes slow-drifting as evidence and proof of Time’s passage moving from nowhere to nowhere and in the process swallowing lives whole.

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Travelogue

Posted on May 21, 2026 by John Biscello

In the gauzy rectum of Memory, perpetrating cosplay in darkened rooms, you encounter, in rounded turns and cursive, a shadowed cast of masked strangers and fools, aligned to moving distances, through which rarest intimacy is bred to conspire and seduce.

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World of Blue

Posted on May 21, 2026 by John Biscello

It was autumn, or late summer. She existed more than half her waking life in the coat-room she called home. At this palace of a department store—she, the coat-check girl, I, the elevator guy. It was a long time ago. … Continue reading →

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In a World of Blue

Posted on May 21, 2026 by John Biscello

It was autumn, or late summer. We met in the coat-room she called home for half her waking life. She, the coat-check girl, I, the elevator guy. We didn’t see ourselves as past-due or endangered then, but now, upon reflection… … Continue reading →

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Speakeasy

Posted on May 20, 2026 by John Biscello

They the fable-soaked and sorrowful children of the moon engender shadows if only to bootleg the mercury of departure to trespass lightly.

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In Our Solitude

Posted on May 20, 2026 by John Biscello

In the birthing solitude of invention, memories night-bloom as cosplay and eulogy in the flickering séance of cinema, keeping strange limitless company to a rounded minimum.

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Equatorial

Posted on May 20, 2026 by John Biscello

Find me, she urged, in a bird-broken sky, in mottled swills of ink darkening my want— Find me, wherever I am not, the explicit spreading of distance to tease and captivate Memory’s cosplay in a subtextual plot.

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Archive

Posted on May 19, 2026 by John Biscello

Memory, eulogies birthed in reverse, séance syncing soundly the cinema of ghosts with real-time revivals rounding to fade.

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