Tag Archives: John Biscello

Rain

Mist leavening mood, Noir, by any other name– In rain, lovers prey.   (Photo by Anthony Distefano)

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Hallway

This could be titled John Biscello Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, could be titled Romancing the Ghosts, or perhaps no title at all, just a flickering reminiscence trapped in a photo snapped by a childhood friend who swears that he occasionally … Continue reading

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Doll

She keeps strict vigil over Childhood in action, every fragrance and nuance, every lost tooth and blown-out birthday candle, every romp in the grass and Goliath slain, she keeps conscious watch, so later, when the box and the dark come … Continue reading

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Follow Me

Upon returning, the man claiming to be Jesus knew the perfect place to kickstart his new wave of miracles, as the parishioners of social media congregated into a mob and followed him down a crooked alley to a street often … Continue reading

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Symmetry

It is the filigreed static, and effluvient roar of the water nymphs choral concert, which numinously orders the light and stones to conspire, and function as delegates of symmetry.

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Remainder

Sometimes, the children who have gone underground, the chance orphans who choose spelunk or burrow or blackest pitch out of necessity and survival instinct, leave behind tangible remnants of their former lives, sacrificed to sights and gods unseen by morally … Continue reading

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Choose Your Own Suspense

Whether I had been waiting for him, or he for me, I could no longer remember. Or maybe he was a she, and I was a you, gender and pronouns being so malleable and always in flux. Whoever, or whatever … Continue reading

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Not Nietzche

If you gaze long enough into a lighted window at night, eventually the lighted window goes dark. (i.e., Common Sense for Uncommonly Complicated Philosophers Who Hang out at Starbucks and Read Immanuel Kant While Hoping That the Nerdy-Cute Barista Finally … Continue reading

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Playground

In the end, as in the beginning, we shall find that the whole cyclical shebanga was a mischievous riot, a fool’s paradise of child’s play upon fluorescent plasma, or to parrot the enlightened pearls of Mister Voltaire, “God is a … Continue reading

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Distance

Fringing the stark shadow of a lucid twig, two fallen leaves court from the distance of metaphor.

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