Tag Archives: Cinema

After

Posted on May 26, 2026 by John Biscello

Bodiless, adrift, blankly navigating the séance of cinema where you, minus a role, are reassigned as a nimbus scab on the patina of Time                         no more I                         of which to speak                         or pirate.

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Frame

Posted on May 22, 2026 by John Biscello

Sepia scraps of filmreel burnt around the edges flickering to animate and revive the magnetic shavings of a life soundly projected. The genetics of cinema are always hard at work in the nimble and forgiving dark.

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In Our Solitude

Posted on May 20, 2026 by John Biscello

In the birthing solitude of invention, memories night-bloom as cosplay and eulogy in the flickering séance of cinema, keeping strange limitless company to a rounded minimum.

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Archive

Posted on May 19, 2026 by John Biscello

Memory, eulogies birthed in reverse, séance syncing soundly the cinema of ghosts with real-time revivals rounding to fade.

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Now Playing

Posted on May 18, 2026 by John Biscello

In the bluest breath of want we are ghosts haunting our own lives possessed by the mutable shadows of cinema.

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Flicker

Posted on May 18, 2026 by John Biscello

In the longaching cinema of memory, the gauzy calling and want of ghosts, exponentially the veiled sum of fading and pulse.

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This Book Doesn’t Resolve Itself

Posted on April 16, 2026 by John Biscello

“So many novels are built around control. Even when they deal with rupture, they shape it into something we can grapple with. Events lead somewhere. Meaning accumulates in a way that can be tracked. By the end, the reader understands … Continue reading →

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Nocturne for Another World

Posted on February 17, 2026 by John Biscello
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Zuzu’s Petals

Posted on December 21, 2025 by John Biscello

A father’s pocket, containing secret petals— the meaning of love.

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Intimate Measures

Posted on December 3, 2025 by John Biscello

It is a lonely road. The road made of words. The words stay put. The feelings don’t. The words crystallize, become the flambed edges of something soft in the center. It is a struggle within, and a turn-on, mud-wrestling false … Continue reading →

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