Category Archives: Prose

Hands

Posted on July 17, 2018 by John Biscello

This is the text which inspired the story I performed in a Story Slam a couple of years back. The theme was “Risk.” Here’s a video clip of the presentation (sorry, it’s sideways, but then again, so am I). One … Continue reading →

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The Fourth, or, The Great Big Bang

Posted on June 27, 2018 by John Biscello

She wanted to celebrate the Fourth. She put on her Stars and Stripes panties. Packed her toy gun, the one with the BANG flag that unfurled, into her babyblue purse with silver sequins. After waggling her hips to emphasize the … Continue reading →

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Ghosting

Posted on June 15, 2018 by John Biscello

(Excerpt from Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale) I closed my notebook and sat motionless at my desk for a long while, feeling flat and infirm. Then, not able to put it off any longer, it was time to disengage my … Continue reading →

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Scandinavia

Posted on June 14, 2018 by John Biscello

(Excerpt from Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale)   I am standing over myself: a runt-skinny kid lying flat on his stomach, right elbow hunched, the stubby pencil in his left hand ferociously scribbling on a piece of unlined white paper.  … Continue reading →

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Hot Pockets by Lamplight

Posted on June 12, 2018 by John Biscello

(Excerpt from Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale) I climbed the stairs to the third floor, where Jimmy’s apartment was.  When I got to his door, I knocked, not expecting an answer, and not getting one.  I turned the knob, expecting … Continue reading →

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The Phantom Itch

Posted on June 12, 2018 by John Biscello

(Excerpt from Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale) There’s not really a name for what I do.  I am not an investigative journalist, I am not a private eye.  I am not a minstrel essayist.  There are many things that I … Continue reading →

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Broken Land

Posted on June 12, 2018 by John Biscello

The new edition of my first novel, Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale, is now available for preorder (Unsolicited Press), in anticipation of its official relaunch. ABOUT: A spectral, existential noir set against the aging irons of Coney Island and old guard lions … Continue reading →

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Claim

Posted on June 5, 2018 by John Biscello

We slowdanced in a house of mirrors. Some of the mirrors had been burned in fires and showed black. Others were webbed in cracks. Still others bore dimensional distortions leading to instant surrealism. When I asked her which of her … Continue reading →

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Can I Strip For You?

Posted on June 5, 2018 by John Biscello

I want to exist for you, even if only as confusion and fiction, she said. Really, I said. No, un-really, she corrected, then caught my nose between her knuckles and gave it a playful toggle.    I didn’t know what … Continue reading →

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Swallow

Posted on May 30, 2018 by John Biscello

Today the glass is half empty full of singing void and fire me cutting my teeth on the rim tonguing rapaciously at spiked air clenching at the impossible slake if only I could swallow smooth as grace this bitter seethe … Continue reading →

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