Category Archives: Prose

Flint

Posted on November 30, 2025 by John Biscello

   I came across what was no longer there, and thought—Burning books isn’t so terrible. What is a far worse fate for books, what really transforms them into grave casualties: apathy.    Indifference and neglect of books is a much … Continue reading →

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Night Gig

Posted on November 30, 2025 by John Biscello

   It is extraordinary, absolutely extraordinary that the world can end yet people will go on living. As if they never got the memo: World Over.    Perception is an absurd gambit. You never know what you’ll see and what … Continue reading →

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Girl in the Dark, Twice

Posted on November 28, 2025 by John Biscello

1.    A girl in the dark, in a corner, spitting out sunflower seeds, spitting out sunflower seeds into the dark.    Pppfft-pppfft, the sound her mouth makes when spitting, and the barely audible plip when the shells hit the … Continue reading →

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Causeless

Posted on November 28, 2025 by John Biscello

   We used to be called human, that is, our actions were considered human if we acted with compassion and mercy. Yet we have been killing and maiming and igniting wars since time immemorial … so isn’t that, based on … Continue reading →

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Crossroads

Posted on November 26, 2025 by John Biscello

   To say I am standing outside in the cold, the snowblowy cold, hatless, a gray overcoat—this would be a lie, this would be fabricated—as I am sitting inside, in my warm home, at my desk, trying to convince someone … Continue reading →

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Chelsea Hotel #3

Posted on November 24, 2025 by John Biscello

   We Are Ugly But We Have the Music.    This is our title, our collective moniker, our flagless flag, denominating no allegiances, no cultural attachments, no geo-political persuasions. None of that. We dwell underground, or to be more accurate, … Continue reading →

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Cinema

Posted on November 24, 2025 by John Biscello

   If cinema is a tomb, then let us die watching. The angel over my shoulder is hunched, opaque, morphing.    None of us ever leave behind the darkened theater. We are here, always. Sanctuary, haven, enclave, respite, sitting tight … Continue reading →

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Titanic

Posted on November 24, 2025 by John Biscello

   If there were two, then let us say there were two. The two danced on the time-haunted deck of the Titanic, they called it the Titanic because they understood the floor beneath their feet was not to be trusted, … Continue reading →

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Pinafore

Posted on November 24, 2025 by John Biscello

   Let’s start with the photo, the comic melodrama in which you, perfectly staged, are wearing a blue pinafore dress, your dark hair gagged in pigtails, mouth heavily lipsticked, cheeks cherubically rouged, your eyes two flashing ovals of abyss-pooling licorice, … Continue reading →

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No One Dreams in Color

Posted on November 24, 2025 by John Biscello

Coming April 2026 from Unsolicited Press. Synopsis:Man Vanishes Without a Trace. This, the dramatic headline which stirs Andrew DiBenedetto’s curiosity, and initiates a life-changing course. The vanished man is Paul Kirby, whose nine-minute film, Wendigo—the only film Kirby ever made—was … Continue reading →

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