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.

Craft

Posted on May 13, 2016 by John Biscello

A chipped blue vase, void of flowers, holding so much perfect air, how we, abiding a course of reform, charge particles with intent to respire, craft bred by labor’s lighted resolve.

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Raking the Dust for Review

Posted on May 13, 2016 by John Biscello

Bloggers, scribes, bibliophiles, word-warmers, and miscellaneous creative kin: In exchange for a free digital version of my new novel Raking the Dust, I am seeking honest reviews to be posted on Amazon, Goodreads, and one’s own blog/website. If interested, please … Continue reading →

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The Hero’s Early Journey

Posted on May 13, 2016 by John Biscello

  Joe Campbell, age two, teething on his toy Muse– in a sense,  Bliss.    

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Almost Found in Translation

Posted on May 12, 2016 by John Biscello

  If, by chance or mistake, I have given you inscrutable glyphs, it is only because I, the translator, struggle mightily and mostly fail to translate the parts of me gone missing.

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Far End of the Bar

Posted on May 12, 2016 by John Biscello

   I could write circles around him, Joe said, sipping his whiskey. Look at him, sitting there, Mr. Smug, Mr. Infallible. I should go over there and give him a good what-for.    He’d knock your block off, Bob responded … Continue reading →

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How Tomorrow Moves

Posted on May 11, 2016 by John Biscello

It was a matter of helium-speak, and tomorrow-talk, and bright ribbons of noise amounting to nothing. We, hanging out on the street-corner, conducting ping-pong volleys and raps, ferocity and verve, building ourselves up—who we were and were not, what we … Continue reading →

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Gondola

Posted on May 11, 2016 by John Biscello

Distance, the middle ground between lovers locked in psychic undress; a ritual burlesque exposing wounds, we reverse course and seed safe harbors at the expense of metaphor and masks; intimacy skinned to savor a new course, near to grace, unfiltered.

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After Hours

Posted on May 10, 2016 by John Biscello

Lenny Bruce, seated on a chipped wooden stool, cigarette dangling from his lips, slumping forward, shoulders slack. His mouth puckers, the cigarette jumps to attention, he draws in fiercely, then exhales a series of bluish halos that float and dissipate. … Continue reading →

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Furls

Posted on May 10, 2016 by John Biscello

Feted, by an angel’s glassy hands, slow-burning river of sound, pooling white fire in rounded furls.

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Kafka, Waking in the Morning

Posted on May 9, 2016 by John Biscello

Between dreams, he woke to night-bells ringing in the early morning— the riskiest time of day. The fog outside his room, thick as cat’s feet, treading softly on his mind, and after rubrubbing the sheep from his eyes, he stared … Continue reading →

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