Author Archives: John Biscello

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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.

Casanova’s Memoirs

Posted on February 21, 2024 by John Biscello

The weevils chewing through the wall and burrowing into the hollows. Rot sets in. Yet I wake up and the sun is a perfect circle, a ball of fire, a kissing fool’s star. I smile. To hell with the weevils. … Continue reading →

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The Bride

Posted on February 20, 2024 by John Biscello

It is always exciting to provide an update when a project is nearing completion. We are putting the finishing post-production touches on our short film, THE BRIDE, and look forward to the next phase of birthing it into the world … Continue reading →

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Ark

Posted on February 20, 2024 by John Biscello

Semen has flowed. The danger is past. This is an old proverb from a sunken country, a made-up country, a country that no longer exists or never did. This mother country with its many flaring mother tongues and tidals of … Continue reading →

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Music

Posted on February 20, 2024 by John Biscello

We Are Ugly But We Have the Music. This is our title, our collective moniker, our flag. It is a torn and flagless flag, denominating no allegiances, no cultural attachments, no geo-political persuasions or fevered legionspeak. None of that. We … Continue reading →

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Test Dummies

Posted on February 18, 2024 by John Biscello

(Excerpt from Worlds Last Imagined, novel in progress). We saw them carrying life-sized dummies to the town square. It was eerie how each dummy so closely resembled the person who was carrying it. We watched as all the dummies were … Continue reading →

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Funereal

Posted on February 17, 2024 by John Biscello

(Excerpt from Worlds Last Imagined, novel in progress.) Last night Ariana and I attended our own funerals. It was something we did from time to time. We saw ourselves, lying there, pretending to be dead, saw a wavering horde of … Continue reading →

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Green Dark

Posted on February 8, 2024 by John Biscello

We enter forests at the liminal risk of time lost to the vagrancies of dreaming and silence of choir— Engendered by echoes and bated tense we move on at the mercy of mirrorless haunt.

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Love and Death

Posted on February 8, 2024 by John Biscello

The branch of the tree reaching down. It reaches down to graze the time-scarred headstone, to caress it. Could this be … a secret love story, a love story with no history, or with a cortege of history, spanning many … Continue reading →

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Visitation Rites

Posted on February 7, 2024 by John Biscello

Metaphors underscore every moment of passage. For example, we, being guests upon this earth but briefly, solidly imagined as entities before dissolving into blurs, en route to fading, among the gusty corteges of transit.

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Rabbit Season

Posted on February 7, 2024 by John Biscello

The love hotel under the overcast afternoon sky. Thick mottled clouds. Two rabbits perched on a crescent moon, backs turned to the viewer. Earth and sky mixed, how lust has room for all seasons. The love hotel is about 100 … Continue reading →

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