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.

Digging in the Dirt

   The episode played and we laughed at the scenes and punchlines we had seen and heard at least a hundred times. Our laughter was tracked on a loop, because no matter how many times we saw it, always Ralph … Continue reading →

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Center of Nowhere

    I come from nowhere Daniel, and nowhere is the exact center of the world. Isn’t that exciting?    I agreed with Anya that it was, even though I wasn’t sure what she meant. And I knew if I … Continue reading →

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House of Incest

Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn, novel-in-progress.    Toward the end my mother began to open up. Of course I didn’t know the end was coming, nor did my father.    My mother, during the last several months, had become a … Continue reading →

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Illuminate

Illuminated manuscript, The Sun Also Sets, spontaneously authored by the divine hand of light’s play on wall.

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Tendering Anya

Anya and I started making out. It went on for a long, tangled while. I ventured to Anya’s breasts, smoothing my hands over them through her shirt. Then my hands went under her shirt and I was in exciting, unfamiliar … Continue reading →

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Young Forever

Anya and I had almost three weeks. The flirt and tease of a young forever. It felt good to be with Anya in this new way. We were no longer ourselves, we were ourselves as a couple, this third and … Continue reading →

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Boneyard

Sometimes you have to walk through the boneyard, in order to reach the garden.

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Monster

Fiction is a monster. It demands, it consumes. It is a glutton. Enough is never enough. It won’t be satisfied until the unreal becomes utterly real, beyond real. Its sole desire is to usurp reality, to surpass it. It basks … Continue reading →

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Night-Thistles

I could feel the music of a slow future dying inside me. And the past very much alive, like shimmering beatific flowers, like luscious night-thistles. The past is a changeable feast. Except it is a feast that eats and eats … Continue reading →

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Borscht and Seashells

Today I had lunch at Boris and Vera’s. Vera made Borscht. She remembered how I used to love to come down and eat Borscht. It always felt exotic to me. Anya hated Borscht. Which is why Vera appreciated my appreciation … Continue reading →

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