Tag Archives: cindy sherman

Travelogue

Posted on July 10, 2019 by John Biscello

She never did go anywhere, you know? Some ghosts become totemic stand-bys for the lives they never led, gloaming potentialties that passed, in solemn wisp, from dream to dream, then fade.   (Photo by Cindy Sherman)

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Panoply

Posted on July 10, 2019 by John Biscello

Consternation, from multiple perspectives— Someone must decide.   (Photo by Cindy Sherman)

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Dusting

Posted on July 10, 2019 by John Biscello

You don’t know where the nights go, what apparitions with monstrous appetites do the swallowing. It is a mystery, soundless, unsigned. But what remained in the whorish glare of daytime were all the undigested bits, the flesh creeping with prickly … Continue reading →

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Following

Posted on July 10, 2019 by John Biscello

To become a vagrant to the territory of one’s own self, requires the right kind of corridor, an elliptical sense of fugue, and footfalls which softly echo a stalker’s unmitigated pursuit.   (Photo by Cindy Sherman)

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Traces

Posted on July 9, 2019 by John Biscello

The letters ran together, a blur, and vicious assembly, which forced her to comprehend  an absence, with no prints to register.   (Photo by Cindy Sherman)

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Under and Above

Posted on July 9, 2019 by John Biscello

As a child, they had tried to scare her with stories of Jaws, and other undersea dangers. Her mother wanted her to be safe, which meant keeping her as close to shore as possible. Now, out there, alone, bobbing, she … Continue reading →

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Folds

Posted on July 9, 2019 by John Biscello

Backlit to claim form, the shadow slipped over her and bared its longing.   (Photo by Cindy Sherman)

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At Present

Posted on July 9, 2019 by John Biscello

Everything dissolved anyway, was how she consoled herself. She would do something, she would plant yellow daisies in the garden first thing tomorrow morning, yellow seemed appropriate, yes, even though the idea of morning seemed far-off and left her feeling … Continue reading →

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Against the Grain

Posted on July 7, 2019 by John Biscello

Two things clawed at her mind— this was no way for a brain to behave, and why couldn’t she remember the fucking mantra, it was designed to help and she sure as shit had paid enough for it. As she … Continue reading →

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Cabin Fever

Posted on July 7, 2019 by John Biscello

A getaway, he had reasoned brightly, it will be good for us, give us a chance to reconnect. Why did everything he said always sound perfectly rehearsed, a conviction born of rote directive? Was it the way he spoke, the … Continue reading →

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