Tag Archives: silence

Moratorium

Posted on September 17, 2025 by John Biscello

I. Beckett spoke about it: the inability to keep quiet. The incapacity to not say stories, not write stories, not place oneself inside stories in which you make and unmake and remake yourself endlessly, an orgy of particles constellating jittery … Continue reading →

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Say What?

Posted on September 7, 2025 by John Biscello

Survival Town was created outside of Las Vegas for the express purposes of being destroyed. The town was populated by mannequin families, who were curated and arranged in homes to model and mimic middle-class American values, ideals, and leisure. Democracy, … Continue reading →

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Less Said

Posted on September 7, 2025 by John Biscello

I have no desire to sing tonight. This is the only line Samuel Beckett managed to write for a libretto which he abandoned. The smallest hours hold staggering volumes of silence.

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Beket

Posted on September 5, 2025 by John Biscello

My name is Beket. That’s my first name, and my last. My mother was going to name me Becky, after some character in a novel she loved, but when she saw how silent I was as a baby (she said … Continue reading →

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Dinner

Posted on August 31, 2025 by John Biscello

   I waited. We waited. A storm was coming. It had to be. He had returned from rehab several days earlier, after having been gone for two months. My father had always born pouchy bags under his eyes, but there, … Continue reading →

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Alone-In

Posted on February 19, 2025 by John Biscello

She grew infintely wet, a throbbing void and pulsing slate of Braille and intent– subletting, by touch, urgent spells of hunger to a silent fast.

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Out of Silence

Posted on November 10, 2024 by John Biscello

Beckett spoke about it: the inability to keep quiet. The inability to not say stories, to not make stories, to not find oneself shaped according to stories fitted to shifting forms. Beckett, with gallows irony, talked plenty about silences. He … Continue reading →

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Gloaming

Posted on February 7, 2024 by John Biscello

At twilight, the softly paling into summer plum sky, sliver of moon suspended like a bone-white boomerang in the distance, narrow street courting its void with dignity— What kind of dream is this, which reminds you there is nothing to … Continue reading →

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Holes

Posted on December 20, 2023 by John Biscello

Cut a hole in the wind and sing through it. Put your ear to the ground. Listen for the echo of what you sang. Cut a hole in ground and sing into it. Listen to the wind and hear your … Continue reading →

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Angels

Posted on December 20, 2023 by John Biscello

Imagine snow. Imagine the symmetry of falling snow. Imagine the quiltlike cocoon of snow covering earth. Imagine the silence of snow sounding everywhere softly. Imagine you are old and cold in snow. Imagine you are young and running in snow. … Continue reading →

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