Category Archives: Prose

Stitch

Posted on October 7, 2026 by John Biscello

You are but a thought a stitch in a dream the interstice between breaths Okay, then, if I accept and embrace my interstitial stitchiness, then why this consuming need and hunger to discover who’s dreaming me? Why can’t I just … Continue reading →

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Melodramatic Reel

Posted on October 7, 2026 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, sweat … Continue reading →

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Screen Test

Posted on October 7, 2026 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 and homey … Continue reading →

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Genre-Bending

Posted on October 7, 2026 by John Biscello

Historyless is where I come from, the sun-crotched navel, the part of me not yet born, the part of me dead to the world on its way to being born into the potholes and foothills of unimagined fictions. Fiction or … Continue reading →

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Chelsea Hotel #3

Posted on October 7, 2026 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, the underground … Continue reading →

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Titanic

Posted on October 6, 2026 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, nor … Continue reading →

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Pandora

Posted on October 6, 2026 by John Biscello

I won’t call this a book because no one reads books anymore, no one gives two shits and a dime about books. I’ll call this an exalted and long overdue mania, a catalytic inversion, a freebase purge. Whatever, whatever. Voyeurs … Continue reading →

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Monkeys and Barrels

Posted on October 6, 2026 by John Biscello

   None of it was going anywhere. It had been a while. Both things were true. Both could be beginnings. So let’s go with both: None of it was going anywhere. It had been a while. I felt like a … Continue reading →

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Sure Shot

Posted on October 6, 2026 by John Biscello

Out here/in here cradling the air. Hugging its hot pissy whatever. Something to hold onto something to grasp. This is maintenance at its most base level. If I let go I will be scooped up again, a helpless dollop in … Continue reading →

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Swimming Lessons

Posted on October 6, 2026 by John Biscello

My mother’s face. The bladed cheekbones, the dancer’s neck, the crowded eyes. What about the rest of her? My mother carried within herself gothic mass, sclerotic and stillborn, the dead child of motherless. Motherless lived inside my mother, beside her. … Continue reading →

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