Tag Archives: Prose

House of Mystery

Posted on July 23, 2022 by John Biscello

In the house of mystery, dreamers enter the fold. It is a world of myriads. Of what-ifs. Undulating layers. In the house of mystery, expect no answers. None are forthcoming. In the house of mystery, dreamers will experience cataclysmic inversions. … Continue reading →

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Best Ghost and Audio

Posted on July 22, 2022 by John Biscello

I have to be careful. This business of old tapes, new tapes. There is responsibility involved. Stewardship. Care. Consideration. You cannot be a headless D.J. If you cut off the D.J.’s head and expect him to be able to communicate … Continue reading →

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Monkeys and Barrels

Posted on June 3, 2022 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 dehydrated … Continue reading →

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Come Wander With Me

Posted on June 1, 2022 by John Biscello

Through grotesquely chapped lips, Bert whistled a bright tune, and managed to keep whistling with melodious tenacity as he and George walked.What’s that tune?I don’t know. Something I heard a long time ago.It’s nice Bert real nice. And the fact … Continue reading →

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High Priestess

Posted on May 31, 2022 by John Biscello

In the lost country of typewriters,and heresies of ink,lived a writer named Clarise,who, longing to syncthe pulse of Godwith sentient spates of text,broke offand plunged soulfirst into a wonderlandof intimately recursive lengths.

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Impermanence

Posted on May 25, 2022 by John Biscello

From the Notebooks of Andre Macon Andrei Tarkovsky, diary entry, 1979: Reread Castaneda’s The Lessons of Don Juan. A marvelous book, and very true because— The world is not all as it appears to us. Under certain conditions it could … Continue reading →

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What Lonely Places

Posted on May 25, 2022 by John Biscello

An Algonquin legend describes the wendigo as a “giant with a heart of ice. Sometimes it was thought to be entirely made of ice. Its body is skeletal and deformed, with missing lips and toes.”The Algonquin people claimed that during … Continue reading →

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Void and Nil

Posted on May 23, 2022 by John Biscello

Evie laughed to herself. It was just acting. Then again, she often did have trouble determining where she ended and someone else began. She wasn’t sure if this was a side-effect to acting, or to existing. Or if there was … Continue reading →

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The Abyss and You

Posted on May 22, 2022 by John Biscello

Excerpt from The Last Furies: When Evie disappeared, I wondered about all sorts of things, including my own sense of reality. I wondered about the photos of Evie I had burned, and the five that remained, and what their place … Continue reading →

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Wendigo Talespin

Posted on May 20, 2022 by John Biscello

My sixth novel, No One Dreams in Color, started as a story, titled Wendigo. Which then became a film script. Which eventually turned into a novel revolving around a man, Paul Kirby, who had written a story which he had … Continue reading →

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