Vertigo

From the “Polaroid Noir” series

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The Killing Moon

From the Polaroid Noir series

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Breathless

From the Polaroid Noir series

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Lost Highway

From the Polaroid Noir series

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Nouvelle Vague

From the Polaroid Noir series

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It Never Entered My Mind

From the Polaroid Noir series

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It Girl

“Evie laughed to herself. It was just acting. Then again, she often did have trouble determining where she ended and someone else began. She wasn’t sure if this was a side-effect to acting, or to existing. Or if there was even a difference between the two.
When she searched herself, what she found was: she didn’t really care where she ended and someone else began, or vice-versa. She relished her loss of awareness when slipping into other personas. And whatever persona adopted, there wasn’t any genuine attachment, because she would be operating from a place of void. One was the same as the other as the other. None of them were her. And she wasn’t her. The void signed off on everything. In invisible ink.
With nesting doll instincts she dreamed she was someone else, and that someone dreamed they were someone else, and that someone didn’t dream at all. That someone was the last straw, the dreamless one, the tenant of emptiness.”

Excerpt from The Last Furies.

Actress, model, icon, and Warhol’s “It Girl'” Edie Sedgwick, was one of the inspirations that informed the genesis of the character, Evie Chase, from my novel The Last Furies.

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Matches in the Moonlight

Deeply appreciated Candice Lousia Daquin’s incisive and in-depth review of The Last Furies. Excerpt of the review below:

“With a background in screen-writing, these influences are Biscello’s nod to cinema and emphasis on art and visual components, often eschewing traditional formatting, in keeping with surrealist writer Mikhail Bulgakov’s style, to explore emotion and spiritual quests, without typical rule-book. The publishers, Lost Telegram Press, have created an artbook with interior postcard, to complement this fragmentary style, where cinematic-scene-play, sits with a lush dream-style, reminiscent of French New Wave in its refusal to explain itself. A screen-play within a novel, permitting entry from our own ubiquitous world, to this discomfiting navarre.”

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Upcoming Readings/Events

A schedule of upcoming events, pertaining to the publication of my new novel, The Last Furies (Lost Telegram Press).

  • Taos Book Launch (Oct. 9th at 6pm, the Encore Gallery, Taos, NM): A reading and book-signing, with special musical guest, Art of Flying.
  • Canadian Book Launch (Oct. 11th at 6pm, 1761 Queen Street East in Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario): Recorded video readings from the novel, and a blues musical performance by The Preacher.
  • Santa Fe Reading/Book-signing (Nov. 16th at 5pm, Teatro Paraguas, Santa Fe, NM): Reading, book-signing, and Q & A.

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Miko

Miko was a singer with her voice in the clouds. They called Miko blue. Occasionally there would be flashes of red. In the fall, Miko would softly mimic the elegy of leaves and become yellow. She would, in voice and longing, die a yellow death and find herself settled among the tender mortuary of leaves. Lost leaves. Lost hours. Lost time. It’s what kept her searching. Not for a specific period in her life, not for a denoted passage. Not for a time she had known. It was the search for a time she hadn’t known. She wanted to find again the time she hadn’t known. The key word in that desire was again. It was saudade as ineffable reflux, as yellow panting for motley leaves and vagrant winds. I don’t know it, this unknown time, yet there is an inexplicable germinal quality to again in my finding it, an inalienable sense of return. Most returns are impossible, or revolve centrifugally around diminishment. Miko’s ghost, having advanced beyond her life at a young age, echoed back to her in song, the invisible passages she must travel in tracking the lost hours.

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