Tag Archives: story

Borscht and Seashells

Posted on January 7, 2018 by John Biscello

Today I had lunch at Boris and Vera’s. Vera made Borscht. She remembered how I used to love to come down and eat Borscht. It always felt exotic to me. Anya hated Borscht. Which is why Vera appreciated my appreciation … Continue reading →

Posted in Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Unreaching Anya

Posted on January 7, 2018 by John Biscello

Anya I long to reach you only because I know that you are unreachable. It keeps my longing in a chrysalis state, a cocoon state. Nothing ever grows, it simply hums and palpitates and aspires toward growth. It is the … Continue reading →

Posted in Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Darking Anya

Posted on January 4, 2018 by John Biscello

   Remember when we were kids and we’d sometimes have sleepovers and listen to the dark together? That’s what you called it, Anya, listening to the dark. Sometimes we’d pretend to be camping. We’d make a tent on my bedroom … Continue reading →

Posted in Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Neverland Exposed

Posted on January 4, 2018 by John Biscello

Peter Pan’s Jesus complex turns flights of fancy into guilty pleasures, sacred geometry into zero accountability, stillborn freezes into high, happy fevers, starling charms into martyred alibis, deeply felt distances into shallow runs of intimacy, and yet beneath all the … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Of Time and the River

Posted on January 3, 2018 by John Biscello

   One thing we cannot recover is time.    Perhaps that’s what I have been trying to do.    Perhaps that’s what every writer, as a fugitive stalker, as a heartsick orphan, as the fool-hero in their own movie is … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Argument

Posted on January 2, 2018 by John Biscello

Reality and me have disagreements all the time. Reality is, by nature, inviolable. And a bit of an existential bully. I am, by illicit union, a child of fiction. And tender in the center. Reality and me don’t always see … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Freezing Anya

Posted on January 1, 2018 by John Biscello

Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn, novel-in-progress. Anya and I had almost three weeks. The flirt and tease of a young forever. It felt good to be with Anya in this new way. We were no longer ourselves, we were ourselves … Continue reading →

Posted in Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Timewarp

Posted on December 29, 2017 by John Biscello

I tell myself stories in the dark, Anya. It helps. Or maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it makes things worse. Or keeps everything the same. Which is a different kind of worse. It is scary once you realize that the past … Continue reading →

Posted in Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Interiority Complex

Posted on December 29, 2017 by John Biscello

Childhood is an ongoing historical fiction that changes based on who you are when you’re examining it. Who you are, in certain periods and chapters in your life, determines what you’re childhood is. Was would imply that childhood is fixed … Continue reading →

Posted in Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Kissing Anya

Posted on December 28, 2017 by John Biscello

Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn, novel-in-progress.      I was hanging out in the schoolyard, by myself, throwing a Spalding against the wall. It was something I did to relax.    Anya breezed into the schoolyard. She was carrying a … Continue reading →

Posted in Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment