Tag Archives: Prose

Cowpunk at the Purgatory Corral

Posted on August 30, 2024 by John Biscello

Excerpt from my novel, None So Distant: We are out here on all fours panting in the sun the bleary merciless maraschino sun burning us. It has been a long while one of those spells that feels foreverish out here … Continue reading →

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All Prairie Dogs Go To Heaven

Posted on August 30, 2024 by John Biscello

Excerpt from None So Distant: We recall fondly. We recollect. The good old days in which we titled windmills redolently and rode clanging dusty boxcars across the glaring horizontal spread of america. What a lay we said hitching up our … Continue reading →

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Fruit

Posted on August 26, 2024 by John Biscello

I was happy to find out that my story, “Fruit,” was selected as a “Brooklyn 2023 Non-Fiction Prize Finalist” for Brooklyn Film & Art Festival’s competition. A filmed recording of the piece is being scheduled. “Fruit” can be read here.

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Worlds Last Imagined

Posted on July 1, 2024 by John Biscello

New novel completed. Grateful for my Abiquiu retreat, where I got to balance work process, nourishing solitude and exploration of this area’s breathtaking beauty. WORLDS LAST IMAGINEDIn these time-bending, multiform chronicles,A) A pair of “tweeners,” the names given to metamorphic … Continue reading →

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Titanic

Posted on June 27, 2024 by John Biscello

If there were two, then let us say there were two. The two danced on the time-haunted deck of the Titanic, they called it the Titanic because they understood the floor beneath their feet was not to be trusted, nor … Continue reading →

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Andrea Doria

Posted on June 27, 2024 by John Biscello

Itchy navels, persecutions, manias, projections, snot-rimmed abysses, it’s been a mixed bag of plenty and none, and here I sit with the day’s teeth growing long and chopping down with razor-edged intensity … the stringent air of day after days … Continue reading →

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Cinema, the Sequel

Posted on June 27, 2024 by John Biscello

In the cinema, hypnotized, I died a drugged and stupefied death, again and again, crucified by the diminished returns of flickering images. I die, tranquilized, a sweetly solemn refugee from reality. This is the escapist way, its creed. Why pretend … Continue reading →

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Cinema

Posted on June 27, 2024 by John Biscello

If cinema is a tomb, then let us die watching. The angel over my shoulder is hunched, opaque, morphing. None of us ever leave behind the darkened theater. We are here, always. Sanctuary, haven, enclave, respite, sitting tight and homey … Continue reading →

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How Tomorrow Moves

Posted on June 25, 2024 by John Biscello

Or, Brooklyn Boys Shit-Talkin on Street-Corners Back in the Day.

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Monkeys and Barrels

Posted on June 23, 2024 by John Biscello

Kinked reflections on the writing life, New York states of mind, Babe Ruth’s prodigious appetite, Einsteinian time-blips, desert blues, and the Aqua Net generation.

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