Tag Archives: Brooklyn

Mystery

Posted on August 10, 2017 by John Biscello

Because we never met, you will forever and always remain the fretted girl behind double crossed scratched glass square rooted Brooklyn train station blues, the soundless frozen fragment of a life running on and outward bound.

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Flint

Posted on July 7, 2017 by John Biscello

   I also saw Anya on that trip, though our meeting was unplanned. I was on the subway platform waiting for the train when I spotted a thin girl in torn jeans and a bright green tank-top walking in my … Continue reading →

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No Man’s Brooklyn

Posted on June 14, 2017 by John Biscello

I have started working on my new novel: No Man’s Brooklyn.  A return to the bones of childhood, and to tangled roots. A return to the gritty lore of Bensonhurst.  

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Digging for Air

Posted on June 11, 2017 by John Biscello

There was always plenty of tomorrow-talk, bright ribbons of noise amounting to nothing. What we would do, where we would go, how we’d become this or that. We erected fragile monuments to ourselves, and expected others to pay their respects, … Continue reading →

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Birth of a Prologue

Posted on June 9, 2017 by John Biscello

   They say you can’t go home again. I don’t know who “they” are, but apparently this mysterious phantom collective is well-stocked in facts, aphorisms and guidelines.    I was going home again, to Brooklyn, though the notion of return, … Continue reading →

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Summer Song

Posted on May 29, 2017 by John Biscello

At the edge of a remote island, (sirens in the distance) modeling jigsaw scars, cracked veins, and an oily sheen, a fast fade dream, a scorched mirage, occurs every evening like clockwork. Walter, jangling his bell, shouting: Good Humor Man, … Continue reading →

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My Grandmother, My Chaplin

Posted on April 16, 2017 by John Biscello

Excerpt from Raking the Dust, honoring the birthdays of my grandmother (April 15th) and Charlie Chaplin (April 16th). In times of hardship and heartache my grandmother would recite St. Teresa’s Prayer or sing Charlie Chaplin’s “Smile” in a warbly and … Continue reading →

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The Urban Way

Posted on March 25, 2017 by John Biscello

Boy on street corner brown bag in his hand, crinkling– Yo, I’ve gotta piss.

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Busy Signal

Posted on March 22, 2017 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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1923

Posted on March 20, 2017 by John Biscello

   In the black and white photo, 1923 written in faded pencil in the lower left hand corner, neatly scalloped perforations along the borders—my grandmother and her sister, Rose, are standing on the beach.  Coney Island.  In the background the … Continue reading →

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