Author Archives: John Biscello

Unknown's avatar

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.

Stars

To glean, unerringly,the ripe maternal geniusof soil,she took lucid stockof her originsas a glamorous peasantfrom the cursive fiestaof stars–Words, as sacrosanct bond,became her,if only to negligeethe remote and hidden contoursof her fable unending.

Posted in photography, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Fleur de Lis

This world,beyond this world,splitting into festive atoms,called upon this woman,beyond this woman,to air with no discretionthe favored breathof blue rosesfalling.

Posted in photography, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

On the Nature of Writing

Begin at the beginning. Who am I? Who is the voice asking who am I? Who is the who observing the voice asking who am I? Who is the who eternally taking notes on the who observing the voice who … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

High Priestess

In the lost country of typewriters,and heresies of ink,lived a writer named Clarise,who, longing to syncthe pulse of Godwith sentient spates of text,broke offand plunged soulfirst into a wonderlandof intimately recursive lengths.

Posted in photography, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

To the Lighthouse

Here it is, finally. A séance for the living, real-time cinema for possessed bones and sad visionless ghosts, who are on the cusp of claiming their spacious reams of empty, and time-locked vagrancy. The door behind the door has never … Continue reading →

Posted in Audio, photography, Poetry, Video | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Demasking is a Crime

 It was in the year _____ that a maskless society ceased to exist. Everyone was issued a mask. All masks were the same. A uniform anonymity, a sea of samefulness, or rather there was only one standard issue mask that … Continue reading →

Posted in Books, photography, Prose, Publications | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Winter Woods

Wendigo-psychosis: A culture-specific disorder, which entails an intense craving for human flesh and fear of becoming a cannibal. In some indigenous cultures, environmental destruction and insatiable greed are seen as manifestations of Wendigo psychosis. I recalled what Mack had said … Continue reading →

Posted in Books, photography, Prose | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Girl, Interrupted

You, Viola, hadn’t believed in love at first sight until you met Evie. Yet it wasn’t just love at first sight, was it? It was love at first sound, love at first gesture. At the dress rehearsal, you saw her … Continue reading →

Posted in Books, Cinema, photography, Prose | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Postcard from the Edge

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Stop Motion

She stood on the podium, beaming, and began waving to everyone in slow motion. Her hand glided right to left, left to right, a panoramic benediction that didn’t miss a single soul. The bouquet tucked near her bosom exuded a … Continue reading →

Posted in Books, photography, Prose | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment