Tag Archives: anais nin

A Thousand Women

Posted on November 16, 2020 by John Biscello

“I am not indifferent to the greater dramas hanging over us, but drama is everywhere the same, microcosm or macrocosm. It is not my destiny to live the drama of Spain, war, death, agony, hunger. It is my destiny to … Continue reading →

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American Alley

Posted on November 16, 2020 by John Biscello

“What absurdity.  There is not one novel of America.  There are a thousand Americas. Big Business is only one of its inhuman, monstrous products.  But jazz is the expression of America’s romantic self, its sensual potency, its lyrical force. Big … Continue reading →

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Tall Black Armchair, or, Anais Nin Revisited

Posted on November 13, 2020 by John Biscello

“The woman will sit eternally in the tall black armchair.  I will be the one woman you will never have … excessive living weighs down the imagination: we will not live, we will only write and talk to swell the … Continue reading →

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Impossible You Say?

Posted on November 10, 2020 by John Biscello

“Literature is an exaggeration, a dramatization, and those who are nourished on it (as I was) are in great danger of trying to approximate an impossible rhythm.”—Anais Nin Leave the impossible to the fishes and the stars, to packed suitcases … Continue reading →

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Hunger

Posted on November 10, 2020 by John Biscello

“Writers do not live one life, they live two. There is the living and then there is the writing. There is the second tasting, the delayed reaction.” How many, committed to their record of days upon the earth, crusade with … Continue reading →

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(Sub)Missive

Posted on March 31, 2019 by John Biscello

The lore of missive keeps writers minds on their hearts as they freehand scratches into the purling skin of history’s feted edges.

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Anais Nin

Posted on April 19, 2018 by John Biscello

Invention was your solitude, your twin, wasn’t it, Miss Nin? The way you spread secret pages like silk violet capes, like fringed shawls, over an air of mystery, and err of desire. You enabled symmetry, to confess. Why couldn’t a … Continue reading →

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Henry, June, Anais, 2018

Posted on February 21, 2018 by John Biscello

Henry’s cell, his first ever, gave rise to a new breed of anxiety and impatience.    Fretfully awaiting Anais’s text, he stared at the dark electronic device cradled in his palm, and keenly felt pangs of nostalgia.    He recalled … Continue reading →

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Enigma

Posted on September 29, 2017 by John Biscello

Modeling the glyphs of a soul’s swooning cursive– Who will transcribe me?

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Anais Nin

Posted on September 29, 2017 by John Biscello

Portrait of a gaze, fixed to a remote star, caving– Form follows distance.

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