Tag Archives: John Biscello
Radio interview on Cultural Energy, revolving around Nocturne Variations, the writing life, youth, Taos, Brooklyn, and other assorted ramblings. (Show is listed as a link under December programs). Advertisements
Leave your favorite mug out in the sun for several hours. Bring the mug back inside and sit on your favorite chair as you drink the light that has collected inside the mug. Feel your stomach glowing, and tell yourself—I … Continue reading
Ask a tree to play hopscotch with you. Ask a stone to jump-rope with you. Ask a blade of grass to tickle you until it hurts. Ask a bird to help you remember how to fly. Ask a child for … Continue reading
Stare at the clouds. Imagine yourself a raindrop that has lost its way, a liquid earthbound orphan seeking a return to the woolen prayerbeds of cloud country. Abolish distance, and know that you are already there.
Ask a child, any child, what the difference is between Monday and Thursday? No matter how they respond, look them in the eyes and tell them how wonderful they are.
Place a piece of blank white paper on a smooth hard surface. Fill a glass of water. Drink half the water, pour the other half onto the paper. Savor the design it makes. Get matches. Light a match. Burn the … Continue reading
Find a puddle after a rainstorm. Close your eyes and dream yourself as a six-yr-old dreaming yourself as a magnificent and shimmering work of art. Or as a happy goldfish. Whether as shimmering art, or happy goldfish, open your eyes, … Continue reading
Imagine an old wooden bathtub filled with rainbow bubbles set in the middle of a grassy meadow on a sunlovely day. Imagine that you are one of the bubbles. Feel the colors coursing through you, feel the sun warming your … Continue reading
Find a yellow leaf, a golden leaf, a leaf that’s mourned its own falling. Name it. Whisper its name to it, kiss it. Unname it, whisper silence to it, kiss it again. Fling the leaf and watch it dance in … Continue reading
Satyr Stardust was ready to undertake the quest for which his whole life had been a ritual initiation, into and through the hidden heart of dark mysterious woods to the liminal edge of What Dreams May Come.