Author Archives: John Biscello

Unknown's avatar

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.

Breathing Lessons

Posted on February 18, 2018 by John Biscello

   One night Anya and I were hanging out in my living room. My father was in Atlantic City. My mother was dead. Had been for almost three years at that point.    Anya and I had the place to … Continue reading →

Posted in Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Angels with Dirty Laundry

Posted on February 18, 2018 by John Biscello

Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn, novel-in-progress.    The binge ended. It could have been longer, could have been worse. It was what it was and while there was residual shame and disquiet, there was also gratitude that I had stumbled … Continue reading →

Posted in Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 17 Comments

Legendless

Posted on February 18, 2018 by John Biscello

Watch the vaudeville sharks take big rending bites out of our amens! and know that our routines, tired and untrue, serve no purpose except diversions which keep tick-talking heads at a low, grave premium, false totems bereft of ceremony and … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Valentine

Posted on February 15, 2018 by John Biscello

Our Lady of Eternal Valentines, forever bestowing tenderest mercy and heart-shaped harbor to the world’s sorrowful lot.

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Fat Woodworker

Posted on February 14, 2018 by John Biscello

   Se non e vero, e’ ben trovato  (“Even if it is not true, it is a good story”).    I learned this Italian phrase from a man I met at a bar in Venice Beach.    The man, a … Continue reading →

Posted in Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Gravesite

Posted on February 13, 2018 by John Biscello

  My father and I visited my mother’s grave. Nothing about it felt profound or moving. It felt like a prescribed exercise in courtesy, a bland ritual.    One thing that gave it a dramatic feel: it was raining.     … Continue reading →

Posted in Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

I Sing the Body Defective

Posted on February 12, 2018 by John Biscello

Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn, novel-in-progress.    Me and Jake are Charlie are at the Body Rub joint.    Jake is treating me to a massage. He offers to treat Charlie too, but Charlie declines. He says he’ll be happy … Continue reading →

Posted in Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Father, I

Posted on February 12, 2018 by John Biscello

   I’ve been waiting for you to exist, I say to my father, even though he is not there.    What?    I’ve been waiting for you to exist, to become real. Me too.    What the hell are you … Continue reading →

Posted in Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Sideshow

Posted on February 12, 2018 by John Biscello

   I, perched on a craggy promontory overlooking my childhood, and its entire formless geography, saw them, my friends, all of them: a mutant strain of cryogeny, a mummified quivering changelessness, as if youth hadn’t been properly lived through but … Continue reading →

Posted in Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Anya in the Forest

Posted on February 11, 2018 by John Biscello

   In the dream my mother and me are sitting in the lobby of a restaurant. We are waiting to be seated for dinner.    The hostess comes up to me and asks me if I am ­­­ ________. I … Continue reading →

Posted in Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment