Category Archives: Prose

Lip Service

Posted on December 3, 2025 by John Biscello

There are the words on the lips of God, nodes and fables of the Unsayable, but Godlike lips have been hyper-inflated with collagen, have been altered and impaired by simulation and synthetic progress. God’s lips have been grossly fattened, blubbery … Continue reading →

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Room

Posted on December 2, 2025 by John Biscello

   She was an avid writer of obscure texts. Her obscure texts, which related to identity, language and alienation, rendered the topics as and through compound fractures. She adopted the brokenness and mirrored it obscurely in brokenness. Self/reflecting through heretical … Continue reading →

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Horizon

Posted on December 2, 2025 by John Biscello

Longing’s end goal is itself, though it will never admit that. To admit that would strip Longing of its impetus and bait, would render it flatfooted in its futile race against time. Longing is habitually wired to attach its fevers … Continue reading →

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Homesickness

Posted on December 2, 2025 by John Biscello

   What is that feeling?    Allow me to cite certain examples which attempt, in vain, to touch upon the vagaries of that sensation, that feeling. It is like longing to be at home when you are already at home. … Continue reading →

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Words and Silence

Posted on December 1, 2025 by John Biscello

There’s no one left to finger, no one left to blame. Someone sang that. I wish I had sung that. I didn’t. I echo. I am echoes proliferating like genetically disturbed rabbits. Maybe neurodivergent rabbits copulating is a better term, … Continue reading →

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Road Test

Posted on December 1, 2025 by John Biscello

   I spent a great deal of my twenties canned inside the dank sweaty armpit of travel Americana: Greyhound. My longstanding affair with Greyhound was born from a blended cocktail of economics and innate romanticism. As a young man with … Continue reading →

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Premature Nostalgia

Posted on December 1, 2025 by John Biscello

   Ever since I can remember, I have been afflicted by what I call premature nostalgia. A simple definition of premature nostalgia: Mourning or grieving, or experiencing acutely a deep sense of loss, a profound wistfulness, ether before something happens … Continue reading →

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Paper Route

Posted on December 1, 2025 by John Biscello

   It’s hard when you live in a paper town. You see the other kids, the real ones, playing at the linen edges, the cloth borders, and you want to interact with them but you can’t cross over. There is … Continue reading →

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Daybreak

Posted on November 30, 2025 by John Biscello

We forget vividly. Absence glares and ghosts inwardly, a brutal slate of charged pixels. We find ourselves shrinking and recoiling in the hospitable siege of light—projecting, wanting, myopic as the day is long. We question ourselves. We are changed. How? … Continue reading →

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Where the Sidewalk Ends

Posted on November 30, 2025 by John Biscello

To no longer have memory is to exist in a state of vulnerable grace. It is the tenuous grace of having to function in the immediate present, the source of our greatest agitation, without referential orientation to archived past or … Continue reading →

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