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Meta
Tag Archives: bar
Giant Killer
The first thing Josie thought—He looks like Hemingway. The second thing—He reminds me of my grandfather. Knowing that Sir James (which was how he had introduced himself with a dramatic flourish—I, my dear, am Sir James) had … Continue reading →
Posted in Poetry, Prose, Uncategorized
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Tagged bar, fiction, giants, lost hours, Prose, small hours, story
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Directions Home
Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen, and Carl Jung walk into a bar in heaven…
Posted in Audio, Cinema, photography, Poetry, Prose, Uncategorized, Video
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Tagged bar, bob dylan, carl jung, fiction, God, Heaven, Job, leonard cohen, Poetry, Prose, Spoken Word, story, tale
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A Man Walks Into
A man walks into a man. He realizes it’s the same man … they’re … the same man. They merge. Naturally. Inviolably. A man walks into a man and a merger occurs. Who was I before I walked into myself? … Continue reading →
Posted in Poetry, Prose
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Tagged bar, circus, coupling, existential, mating, men and women, mergers, metaphysics, musing, Prose, story
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Directions Home
Excerpt from No One Dreams in Color, a novel-in-progress. Bob Dylan, Carl Jung and Leonard Cohen walk into a bar in heaven… Dylan was dressed like a tramp clown, wearing a battered calico vest, baggy trousers, and a dusty bowler. … Continue reading →
Posted in Prose
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Tagged bar, bob dylan, carl jung, God, Heaven, leonard cohen, novel, Prose
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Gravity Girls
(Excerpt from Raking the Dust.) It was some time later, back at the drink rail, when I heard—Hey Spider-Man—and felt a hand press down on my shoulder. I turned around and there was Jose, his eyes a couple of pinkish slits … Continue reading →
Posted in Prose, Uncategorized
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Tagged bar, gravity girls, John Biscello, men, novel, Raking the Dust, Taos, women
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Holden on the Rocks
After the first bar, my father and I slide over to another bar, a non-island-themed one where a DJ is spinning party-pop music. At this point my father is slumped over on his barstool. When the bartender asks him … Continue reading →
Posted in Prose, Uncategorized
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Tagged atlantic city, bar, dissolution, father, holden caulfield, John Biscello, no man's brooklyn, novel, Prose, son, storytelling, w.c. fields
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Sober Judge
Dylan Thomas falls from his barstool in Heaven— God, tending bar, picks him up, turns to Job—Who am I to judge?
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
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Tagged bar, barstool, celestial, drinking, Dylan Thomas, God, Heaven, Job, John Biscello, poem, poet
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John Biscello 