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Meta
Tag Archives: blues
Bath
Our destinies are molecular, uniformly bonded, an immaculately charged cluster fuck of singing particles wedded to a liminal bubble bath … that is the beginning … we are not alone. We see god drop the soap, intentionally, perhaps the precursor … Continue reading
Posted in photography, Poetry, Prose
Tagged bath, blues, champagne rabies, fragment, God, Prose, tub, words
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Prints
We slip through our own fingers in bluest forget-me-nots, and keep on slipping wondering where the falling leads. Artwork by Chua Ek Kay
Apocalypse Now and Again
Everything always going on. People worry about everything not going on but what they’re really saying beneath the waves what they’re really saying and worrying about is them not going on. Everything going on and them not. I not continuing. … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry
Tagged beginnings, bless, blues, cherish, enndinngs, lost hours, poem, Prose
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Bathwater Blues
Our destinies are molecular, uniformly bonded, an immaculately charged cluster fuck of singing clinging particles wedded to a liminal bubble bath … that is the beginning … we are not alone … we see god drop the soap, intentionally, perhaps … Continue reading
Born Blues
I am the foster child of rampant insular lyricism. In it I was raised wild and came meekly to regard the moon as a shotgun blast from the mouth of eternity. I, setting core to task, get greedy, rabid, blood … Continue reading
Blue Boy
There’s something wrong with him, my father said. Look at him. Something’s not right. Something happened to him. He’s sick. All he thinks about is writing. That’s all he thinks about. He is blue. Even though I wasn’t … Continue reading
Posted in Prose
Tagged blues, dreamscape, fathers and sons, imagination, johnbiscello, Prose, the writing life
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Them Blues
“… the blues is an impulse to keep the painful details and episodes of a brutal experience alive in one’s aching consciousness, to finger its jagged train and transcend it, not by the consolation of philosophy but by squeezing from … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry
Tagged B.F. McKeever, blues, Cane, Jean Toomer, John Biscello, poem, Prose
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Burn
The out of womb blues, torch song on code red alert– Slow burning for home.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged birth, blues, burning, death, dreams, existential, great sadness, home, John Biscello, love, pain, poem, Poetry, sorrow, womb, yearning
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Rumple
Street rumpled and wet, heartsick man stranded in bed– Blue Monday spread thick.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged blues, Depression, haiku, heartbreak, heartsick, John Biscello, love, mission street, poem, Poetry, sadness, San Francisco, street
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