Tag Archives: Prose

Pandora

Posted on October 6, 2026 by John Biscello

I won’t call this a book because no one reads books anymore, no one gives two shits and a dime about books. I’ll call this an exalted and long overdue mania, a catalytic inversion, a freebase purge. Whatever, whatever. Voyeurs … Continue reading →

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Monkeys and Barrels

Posted on October 6, 2026 by John Biscello

   None of it was going anywhere. It had been a while. Both things were true. Both could be beginnings. So let’s go with both: None of it was going anywhere. It had been a while. I felt like a … Continue reading →

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Sure Shot

Posted on October 6, 2026 by John Biscello

Out here/in here cradling the air. Hugging its hot pissy whatever. Something to hold onto something to grasp. This is maintenance at its most base level. If I let go I will be scooped up again, a helpless dollop in … Continue reading →

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The Life of a Professional Stand-In

Posted on October 2, 2026 by John Biscello

Since I was young I have been seeking permission to exist. This I have sought from a variety of sources. And not just any permission to exist, it had to be formal permission, perhaps an official document, or permission bestowed … Continue reading →

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Pop Quiz

Posted on October 1, 2026 by John Biscello

It was not enough, never enough. The ghosts were bottomless in their hunger, and legion. This sense of not-enough had plagued and subliminally influenced me for as long as I can remember. Not-enough was the ultimate mindfuck and midwife because … Continue reading →

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Bardo Noir

Posted on September 22, 2026 by John Biscello

Out/here in/here cradling the air. Hugging its hot pissy whatever. Something to hold onto something to grasp. This is maintenance at its most base level. If I let go I will be scooped up again/a helpless dollop in timespanning batter. … Continue reading →

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Forest

Posted on September 21, 2026 by John Biscello

Everyone possesses a dark forest. It is, whether geographically or metaphysically, where you are terrified to wander at night, alone. It is the weathervane and divining rod of primal fear. There is an ancient nameless fear that makes your existence … Continue reading →

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Less Traveled

Posted on September 21, 2026 by John Biscello

I am here while I went there. I am near yet faraway. Both things can be true. Let’s say physically you walked to a place, a tangible and specific location, while mentally, psychically, existentially, you went elsewhere: you traveled to … Continue reading →

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9/17/26

Posted on September 17, 2026 by John Biscello

As I sit here at my desk waiting for the world to end (again)—the collective hunch and shrug of mass many keeping future tense at peak volume—I think I will write. That seems as good and fine of a thing … Continue reading →

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Three to Five

Posted on September 8, 2026 by John Biscello

I do not want to see the face of God, I want to see her mask, where and for whom it cracked. These lines hail from a poem, “Claim for the Meek,” written by Bernardo Antwerp. I am specifically thinking … Continue reading →

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