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.

Spool

Quartered and dissected in a recursive plunge, she, the candy striped It girl, fell from overexposed grace into a fractious spool of lost prints unclaimed.

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Overexposed

It is hard to see the man and woman overexposed in the milkbath of light, but allegedly this photo captures Adam and Eve right after Eden dissolved and Eve was mysteriously knocked up.

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God’s Lectern

Epic announcement forthcoming about commandments to be scratched onto stone tablets like Eden acid jazz for badland sinners in nuclear raincoats (stream: Wholly Moses the remix on Godify.)

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Breaking Badlands

In the beginning, there were no words.

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Hale

To sharpen one’s teeth against solvent pages and grated silence is the bite in the air the old poets crowed about, and the wind saliently scales, as if reverse were a condition and not Memory fasting into childhood’s hale.

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Mantra

Hurry Slowly was the tictoc mantra of the one-armed photographer, Josef Sudek, who praised and made lasting secret love to his Muse and ghost-veiled bride, Prague, vowing his fugitive eye to her and her alone.

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Yes

It is those, in writing, who quietly almost sublimely say fuck you & yes while trafficking, with fierce row, in silence whom I most admire.

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Where is He?

On the day I landed on Asteroid B-9 and wandered around for a short eternity without a sighting, I asked the Silence if it had said seen the Little Prince to which the Silence responded not at all. The Little … Continue reading →

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Spell

On the day I was turned to stone all mirrors were instantly abolished and silence became that gilded golden thing I had heard so much about and the stillness of time slowed to a moist chafing pardon where I was … Continue reading →

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Map

Mapping the bluest eye through a cave-dwelling perspective alighted.

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