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Meta
Tag Archives: fiction
Plot
Yesterday I buried my mother. Two mothers. Maybe three, or four. I have had many mothers in the small hours of this modest and shrinking life. All of my mothers are tassels of foam threading mighty surf. All of my … Continue reading
Bed
I lie in wait. Hell is supposed to come anytime now. That’s what the others started calling that which was scheduled to come: hell. You would think that humans wouldn’t want to coordinate or administrate hell, but it seems they … Continue reading
Posted in Artwork, photography, Poetry, Prose
Tagged 1950s, atomic bomb, doomtown, fiction, life, mannequins, may 5 1955, nuclear testing, Prose, slice of life, story, viva las vegas, writing
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Knife
My sister says she doesn’t have many memories from childhood. When she looks back, there’s nothing there: a blank screen. I never asked her if she saw black or white in her absence of memories. One of her earliest memories, … Continue reading
Dinner
I waited. We waited. A storm was coming. It had to be. He had returned from rehab several days earlier, after having been gone for two months. My father had always born pouchy bags under his eyes, but there, … Continue reading
Review of The Last Furies
Thank you, Louis Greenstein, for the thoughtful advance review of my forthcoming novel, The Last Furies (Lost Telegram Press). Full review below: John Biscello’s astonishing work, The Last Furies, is a vaudeville routine wrapped around a radio drama, tucked into … Continue reading
Posted in Artwork, Audio, Books, Cinema, photography, Poetry, Press, Prose, Publications, Theater, Uncategorized, Video
Tagged advance review, american novel, book review, book-reviews, Books, canadian press, Cinema, experimental, fiction, Literary, louis greenstein, novel, play, Reading, Review, Surrealism, Theater
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Sonata of the I
The hatless pilgrim, roving this way and that, a man embodying the virtues of scat (in every sense of the word), roving through starched cardstock fields in search of an impossible flower and its stingy nettles—proud, pistil-engraved, the flower’s gullet … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Prose
Tagged fiction, music, pilgrimage, Poetry, Prose, samuel beckett, self, solipsistic kicks, sonata, story, variations on I, what's in a name
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Pilgrimage of the I
A hatless pilgrim, roving this way and that, a man embodying the virtues of scat (in every sense of the word), wandering through starched cardstock fields in search of an impossible flower and its stingy nettles— proud, pistil-engraved, the flower’s … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Prose
Tagged fiction, ghosts, I, poem, Poetry, road trip, samuel beckett, self, solipsism, vaudeville, wanderer, writing
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Beckett’s Sonata
A hatless pilgrim, roving this way and that, a man embodying scat (in every sense of the word), wandering through starched cardstock fields in search of a stingy flower, proud, pistil-engraved, the flower’s gullet scorched by streaks of sungold (this, … Continue reading
Posted in photography, Poetry, Prose, Theater
Tagged fiction, Godot's godchildren, krapp, malone, mercier et camier, molloy, murphy, Poetry, Prose, samuel beckett, travel, writing
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Bolano and Me
Last night I dreamed of Roberto Bolaño. Or he of me. We were sitting at a dimly lit café, a subterranean plot of a café, and Bolaño was drinking chamomile tea. In the latter stages of his life chamomile tea … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Prose
Tagged boxing, cafe, chamomile tea, chile, creative-writing, dream, fiction, Literary, literature, poem, Poetry, roberto bolano, writer's life, writing
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John Biscello 