Tag Archives: Literary

Sculpting Fire

Posted on May 12, 2017 by John Biscello

An excerpt from Nocturne Variations:    It is like closing your eyes and trying to connect the dots.    This is what Piers is thinking as she sculpts fire onto the blondegirl’s breasts.    Her hands work over the cotton-knit … Continue reading →

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Birth of a Nocturne

Posted on April 10, 2017 by John Biscello

Completed draft of my new novel, Nocturne Variations.

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Spring Dusting

Posted on April 10, 2017 by John Biscello

As part of a Countdown Deal, the Kindle edition of my novel Raking the Dust will be available for $1.99, April 11-18. ABOUT: In this rogue’s tale, full of sound, fury, and erotic surrealism, we meet Alex Fillameno, a writer who has traded … Continue reading →

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The Haunting of One’s Self

Posted on March 28, 2017 by John Biscello

Review of Paul Auster’s 4 3 2 1, appearing in Riot Material. “He believed in an infinite series of times, in a growing, dizzying net of divergent, convergent and parallel times. This network of times which approached one another, forked, … Continue reading →

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How-To Manual

Posted on March 26, 2017 by John Biscello

Hands reach, instinctively, because they understand what the mind’s fixed gears are sometimes too tight or slow to grasp: the necessity of shrinking distance through first contact, the dream-life of prayers.

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The Urban Way

Posted on March 25, 2017 by John Biscello

Boy on street corner brown bag in his hand, crinkling– Yo, I’ve gotta piss.

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The Little Emperor

Posted on March 24, 2017 by John Biscello

(In memory of Anthony Hassett, and in response to his artwork) I have seen the Little Emperor— mischievous, unabashed, baiting in borrowed skin dong tolling through the marketplace offering his services for a nominal fee. He leads, without words, through … Continue reading →

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Pronoun, Singular

Posted on March 22, 2017 by John Biscello

I for an I, the faltering trade-in of an egotist contracting tunnels at the expense of light’s vented kiss.

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Busy Signal

Posted on March 22, 2017 by John Biscello

Excerpt from Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale: There’s not really a name for what I do.  I am not an investigative journalist, I am not a private eye.  I am not a minstrel essayist.  There are many things that I … Continue reading →

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1923

Posted on March 20, 2017 by John Biscello

   In the black and white photo, 1923 written in faded pencil in the lower left hand corner, neatly scalloped perforations along the borders—my grandmother and her sister, Rose, are standing on the beach.  Coney Island.  In the background the … Continue reading →

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