Category Archives: Prose

A Moveable Feast

Posted on December 12, 2025 by John Biscello

   The first time I saw Hemingway he was seated at a table on his terrace overlooking the train station. It was raining that day and I was waiting on the platform opposite the terrace. I chanced to look up … Continue reading →

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Torch Song

Posted on December 12, 2025 by John Biscello

   She is there. She is always there, in the corridor. And she is lonely. This much I know. Lonely as a form of cold that you cannot cover with blankets or insulate against with coats and scarves and such. … Continue reading →

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The Last Word podcast

Posted on December 11, 2025 by John Biscello

“Fascinating insights into the ‘storied and wild mind’ of author, playwright, poet and performer John Biscello with his latest book The Last Furies. Our far-ranging conversation takes us from his home in the “grunge-wonderland” of Taos to lands of fables … Continue reading →

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City Lights

Posted on December 11, 2025 by John Biscello

   There’s something wrong with him, my father said. Look at him. Something’s not right. Something’s happened to him. He’s sick. All he thinks about is writing. That’s all he thinks about. He is blue.    Even though I wasn’t … Continue reading →

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The Last Word

Posted on December 9, 2025 by John Biscello

It was a treat getting to chat with Carly Newfeld on the Last Word podcast (KSFR, Santa Fe Public Radio), as we talked about wild mind, inspiration, the richness of solitude and silence, and my new novel, The Last Furies, … Continue reading →

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Dark Matter

Posted on December 4, 2025 by John Biscello

A story from out of the dark. First there was one voice, followed by a second voice … the dark twists itself into shapes and semblances. The dark is the clothing our ghosts wear. I have tried to acquaint myself … Continue reading →

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Talisman

Posted on December 4, 2025 by John Biscello

Wordwise, edges and ledges: we are falling off. We, as in word-wielding also world-wearied, we, an endangered species, parrots with branded larynxes … falling off. Ask a stranger to cup your balls (male or female you, no matter) as you … Continue reading →

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Intimate Measures

Posted on December 3, 2025 by John Biscello

It is a lonely road. The road made of words. The words stay put. The feelings don’t. The words crystallize, become the flambed edges of something soft in the center. It is a struggle within, and a turn-on, mud-wrestling false … Continue reading →

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Epilogue

Posted on December 3, 2025 by John Biscello

We are ghosts haunting our own lives, understanding on the deepest level that there is no beginning and no end. Because we know that, or in spite of knowing that, we wander, we stalk, we pursue. We give names and … Continue reading →

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(sic)

Posted on December 3, 2025 by John Biscello

   She compiled what they called obscure texts into what was then labeled an obscure book. She was vilified. To be obscure, to be knowingly obscure, was, as they saw it, was a veiled threat to innocence and an assault … Continue reading →

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