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Meta
Tag Archives: memory
Gremlins
I can no longer remember where I was when it happened, only that it happened, it must have happened. Sometimes we cry silent recordings in our bones, or guts, or maybe it is our hips that are the primary … Continue reading
Hips Don’t Lie
Posted in Audio, Cinema, photography, Poetry, Prose, Uncategorized, Video
Tagged body, dreams, fear, fragment, grief, hips, memory, pieces, Spoken Word, what we hold
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3 AM
Sometimes we wake up at 3am and we don’t know who we are, how we got there (where is there), why anything. Why at all. In these ghostly interstices, we try to locate ourselves in absentia—we awaken to no purpose, … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Prose
Tagged 3am, fragment, identity, in progress, memory, Poetry, speculation, story, who what where when
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Slight
A young woman came to see me yesterday. I know it’s my daughter, yet something stops the word daughter from coming out of my mouth, any of my mouths. There is word-daughter and there is daughter-daughter and word-daughter is … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Prose
Tagged archive, daughter, father, fiction, fragment, history, in progress, memory, pieces, story, storytelling
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A Moveable Freeze
The first spots were discovered, and contrary to my sense of fiction, they had nothing to do with extraterrestrials or loneliness. Nor poverty. Soon, no exact timetable, but soon my memories would no longer be mine. I would no … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Prose
Tagged fiction, fragment, in progress, memory, process, Prose, story
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Manna
Do not say the thing that is easily said. Say the other, say the nothing, say the silence, say the unsayable, and save yourself (sort of) through the saying. Gold dust wafts down like filigreed motes from a rain-swollen ceiling. … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Prose
Tagged art, between worlds, ghosts, haruki murakami, imagination, longing, memory, novel, patti smith, psychic, realms, time, words
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Hips Don’t Lie
The hips don’t lie. They are the truth-telling giants, and the whistle-blowers transmitting through pirate radio. They are also the catacombs and weather satellites of one’s cumulative genealogy. When an old person falls and breaks their hip, it is not … Continue reading
Hips
I can no longer remember where I was when it happened, only that it happened, it must have happened. Sometimes we cry silent recordings in our bones, or guts, or maybe it is our hips that are the primary storehouses … Continue reading
Waves
What is the difference between memory and fiction? What are the intersecting policies of their tenuous and subjective relationship? For example: You have a woman, a mother recalling her dead daughter. She sees her daughter playing on the beach, she … Continue reading
Memory Piece
A young woman came to see me yesterday. I know it’s my daughter, yet something stops the word daughter from coming out of my mouth, any of my mouths. There is word-daughter and there is daughter-daughter and word-daughter is the … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Prose
Tagged and so it goes, daughter, father, identity, images, memory, memory piece, Poetry, Prose, story, words
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John Biscello 