Tag Archives: story

Welcome to the Monkey House

Posted on October 24, 2024 by John Biscello

A man rattling the bars inside his cage that is the monkey house of writing and publishing, or, the holy seethe sounded in diminished chords and vinegar.

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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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Sea Change

Posted on August 25, 2024 by John Biscello

Excerpt from my recently completed novel, Worlds Last Imagined. This fragment is a meditation upon the tenuous and subjective relationship between memory and fiction: She stood at a distance, imagining her daughter there, playing. She saw how her daughter lit … 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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Melodrama

Posted on February 22, 2024 by John Biscello

Let’s start with this photo, the comic melodrama in which you, perfectly staged, are wearing a blue pinafore dress, your dark hair gagged in pigtails, mouth heavily lipsticked, cheeks cherubically rouged, your eyes two flashing ovals of abyss-pooling licorice, sweat … Continue reading →

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Play

Posted on February 22, 2024 by John Biscello

I have to imagine her death from every conceivable angle. She has assured me she will disappear, said that dying is a trick of the light, and everyone was enamored of the mirage, convinced, in on it, the gag. When … Continue reading →

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Stand-Up

Posted on February 22, 2024 by John Biscello

This is not a not a novel. This is a rhapsody. I rhapsodize, I bubble, I ferment, I fount. The amassing of word-shaped sounds have become rhapsodies, digressions, solos within spheres and platforms of soul-sounding species and choruses, the every … Continue reading →

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Recorded Live

Posted on February 22, 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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In the Dark

Posted on February 22, 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 dark of the theater.  We are here, always. Sanctuary, haven, enclave, respite, sitting tight … Continue reading →

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