Tag Archives: portrait

Interior

Posted on November 20, 2025 by John Biscello

   It was a town caught in the pinwheeling stasis between living and dying, between chrysalis and mortuary. I want to examine why it is I am drawn to places like this, why I always return to this specific feeling … Continue reading →

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Vigil

Posted on November 17, 2025 by John Biscello

When I watched my mother brush her hair, it made a scraping electric sound: vibrating plastic teeth sinking repeatedly into a fuzzy animal. I loved watching my mother brush her hair. I’d make sure to always stand behind her, so … Continue reading →

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Portrait

Posted on September 1, 2025 by John Biscello

When I watched my mother brush her hair, it made a scraping electric sound: vibrating plastic teeth sinking repeatedly into a fuzzy animal. I loved watching my mother brush her hair. I’d make sure to always stand behind her, so … Continue reading →

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The Trial

Posted on November 12, 2024 by John Biscello

Enlightened, perhaps. God-engorged hormones, maybe. Regardless of why, Joan, you were the rebel prototype long before James Dean zipped up a red jacket, or Marlon Brando mumbled and curled his upperlip into a stylized totem. Before Louise Brooks and Josephine … Continue reading →

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Jean Rhys

Posted on November 8, 2024 by John Biscello

Jean Rhys was a bedraggled feline. She’d slink through cobbled alleys, lap up Parisian rainwater. High sky glance the glittering harem of stars, and long. Cats are the masters of longing. Spiders are patient, but when it comes to longing, … Continue reading →

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Kerouac

Posted on November 8, 2024 by John Biscello

Kerouac whizzed and hummed. He lived with smoldering zest a crumbling highway within. He took to this unlighted highway, equal parts tour guide and lost little lamb, nuzzling a candle, believing that even the littlest light would make him brave, … Continue reading →

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Marguerite Duras

Posted on November 8, 2024 by John Biscello

Marguerite Duras crowed about nothing. And nothingness. Lyrics like so much silky water threaded in the raptures of an eddy. Whirling, heady, intoxicating, a dizzying effect that spoke sheerest volumes about the secret history of love. Love for M.D. was … Continue reading →

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Beckett

Posted on November 8, 2024 by John Biscello

Samuel Beckett plunged his head so far up his ass, daylight became a dream and conundrum. He saw the world through shit-filtered glasses, the bluest of roses manure-caked, anal cavity functioning as the base of inspiration, as the grimy pulpit … Continue reading →

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Notes in Passing

Posted on February 28, 2024 by John Biscello

The old man in the blue hat, short-sleeve white shirt, gray pants, blue sneakers, seated on a canvas folding chair staked on a plot of grass, the old man’s elected vantage point from which to enjoy his beer and watch … Continue reading →

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Portrait

Posted on February 28, 2024 by John Biscello

In the hospitable equation of a bicycle, lighted doors and people we cannot see, a hypnogogic nocturne forms of its own accord, begetting incalculable solitude and lore to the trespasses of dreaming.

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