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.

House of Mystery

In the house of mystery, dreamers enter the fold. It is a world of myriads. Of what-ifs. Undulating layers. In the house of mystery, expect no answers. None are forthcoming. In the house of mystery, dreamers will experience cataclysmic inversions. … Continue reading →

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Best Ghost and Audio

I have to be careful. This business of old tapes, new tapes. There is responsibility involved. Stewardship. Care. Consideration. You cannot be a headless D.J. If you cut off the D.J.’s head and expect him to be able to communicate … Continue reading →

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Venus Infers

Venus rising in frothy lace petticoats and sunkissed pearls, the seawear of golden seduction, and I, a lone comma pulsing within the voluptuous grammar of the ocean, I, a conjugal apprentice and disciple to all things invoking beauty to rapture.

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P.S.

With tenderest regards to everything, to everything, we are a hymnal species of kissing cousins, from amoeba to Moses to the stunning narwhal, our sea tongues have touched upon the lush symmetry and limitless vibrato of a daringly molecular burlesque.

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Lucent

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Slippers

The world has become an enormous mouth. Or a senile teenager fumbling with a fire sale chemistry set. Silence, and solitude, arouse their favored ebb within the subtle gloam of twilight. Twilight is a meek and intrepid lover, an inscrutable … Continue reading →

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Twilight

Twilight is seductively meek. Every day, at day’s end, it inherits the earth through valentine quivers and softcore volitions of symmetry— the sky, at its supple mercy, bruises so easily, pale liminal purple adoring the tenderest wounds between lovers merging … Continue reading →

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Citation

Tablatures of light engraved in your palms by eyeless angels once upon a time when yes was yes and waves were forms serve as source citation while hosting vividly the fact that your hands are the temples which can be … Continue reading →

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For Melody’s Sake

It is a call, a calling. Lost voices committing mutiny to service seasons unknown— Strange wingless angels of mercy and memory, the blue ones, sounding the call, a calling. Melody hosts its own discipline, and we, the fragile disciples of … Continue reading →

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Analog

Light. Like ten thousand fingers scaling the arpeggios of lives minted and scattered— the autobiography of days demanding their own masks— and we, the weepless ones, dry and several worlds removed, drown in the riptides of bass and metaphor within … Continue reading →

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