Tag Archives: fiction

Seasons of the Mask

Posted on October 7, 2026 by John Biscello

The mask lifted. Autumn lisped. Lost, and lisping about a mausoleum of hours, days. It was a dry Marienbaddish summer. Which gave way to fall. You have to imagine it giving way: Summer, holding up its illustrious red velvet cape, … Continue reading →

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Dreamer’s Cheat Code

Posted on October 7, 2026 by John Biscello

A. I sit down at my desk and wonder about placeless places, non-specific locations, the Dreamer dreaming me … it is a way to pass the time. If time were passing, could be passed, over or under, this would be … Continue reading →

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Ineffably Yours

Posted on October 7, 2026 by John Biscello

There’s something seductive about a poem lending itself to the ineffable. Ineffable as in the fathomless and mysterious. Ineffable as in unfuckable. You could say the fathomless is unfuckable. Yet the cosmos is shapely and noir, so I succumb to … Continue reading →

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Stitch

Posted on October 7, 2026 by John Biscello

You are but a thought a stitch in a dream the interstice between breaths Okay, then, if I accept and embrace my interstitial stitchiness, then why this consuming need and hunger to discover who’s dreaming me? Why can’t I just … Continue reading →

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Melodramatic Reel

Posted on October 7, 2026 by John Biscello

Let’s start with the photo, the comic melodrama in which you, perfectly staged, are wearing a blue pinafore dress, your dark hair gagged in pigtails, mouth heavily lipsticked, cheeks cherubically rouged, your eyes two flashing ovals of abyss-pooling licorice, sweat … Continue reading →

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Screen Test

Posted on October 7, 2026 by John Biscello

If cinema is a tomb, then let us die watching. The angel over my shoulder is hunched, opaque, morphing. None of us ever leave behind the darkened theater. We are here, always. Sanctuary, haven, enclave, respite, sitting tight and homey … Continue reading →

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Genre-Bending

Posted on October 7, 2026 by John Biscello

Historyless is where I come from, the sun-crotched navel, the part of me not yet born, the part of me dead to the world on its way to being born into the potholes and foothills of unimagined fictions. Fiction or … Continue reading →

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Reverb

Posted on September 18, 2026 by John Biscello

My mother’s face was reflected in the blade of the knife, its penance and scythe, held to her throat like a vicious question. This is the beginning of fiction. Of me splitting from me and birthing other in the creation … Continue reading →

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Searchlight

Posted on September 8, 2026 by John Biscello

You are being crafted and curated right now, as you speak. Scraps of filmreel flickering and bringing to life shadows of a life lived, echoes of fiction bygone. Memory as the green-screen slate upon which cinema is perpetrated. Behind the … Continue reading →

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Not I

Posted on March 20, 2026 by John Biscello

Before this goes any further, allow me to come clean: I have never written a single line in my life. At least not creatively. I wouldn’t know how. Not knowing how is one of my specialties. It is my fool, … Continue reading →

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