Tag Archives: words

Outlaw Country

Posted on March 19, 2025 by John Biscello

“Outlaw Country,” an excerpt from my novel, None So Distant, published in Spare Parts Literary Magazine as part of their From the Desk series: Reports of fringy lore on lost highways. Point-counterpoint in a twangy battle of wills. Stay tuned. … Continue reading →

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Death Rides in on a Pony

Posted on November 20, 2024 by John Biscello

When Death showed up on a broken-down pony, I scoffed. This, really? What, Death said, looking around, unsure as to who or what I was referring. You’re Death, right? Yes. THE Death? You can check my I.D. And you’ve come … Continue reading →

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Outtake

Posted on November 19, 2024 by John Biscello

I saw the sign in the window: Lessons Learned/Karma Burned. I went inside. The studio reeked of frankincense. And cotton candy. Greeting me at the door, as if she had been waiting for me, was a tall, well-toned woman in … Continue reading →

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Distances

Posted on November 18, 2024 by John Biscello

In the catacombs of grief, she wandered. She wandered, without thirst, without hunger, without want. This frightened her. Had she lost her basic humanity? Why had she created such elaborate labyrinths in which to wander? Try saying that ten times … Continue reading →

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Without Proper Guidance

Posted on November 17, 2024 by John Biscello

They had me in a corner and ganged up on me. A team of guidance counselors wearing black turtlenecks, black Dickies, black wingtips, wristwatches, and spotlessly clean spectacles. Their voices harmonized in a harsh baritone chorus: Biscello (ohhhh…ohhhhh…sounded the echo)—what … Continue reading →

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Reel

Posted on November 17, 2024 by John Biscello

It’s like watching a movie. In which you deeply and passionately relate to the main character, who has been wronged. You feel angry, vindictive, vengeful. You want to lash out at the antagonist who has wronged him. Then you pull … Continue reading →

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Honeymoon Killer

Posted on November 15, 2024 by John Biscello

Ralph Kramden sweats and sweats, eyeballs bulging in their sockets. Plagued by the accursed notion that he has become a whale, no, a rhinoceros, no, an inoculated hippo that shows up to birthday parties uninvited. This visual grotesquerie, reflected back … Continue reading →

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Dust in the Wind

Posted on November 13, 2024 by John Biscello

A musician named Sam introduced me to Ask the Dust when I was in my early twenties. It was exactly the book I needed at the time. Sam had heard me read at the Vault, a house-based, performance space in … Continue reading →

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Veils

Posted on November 12, 2024 by John Biscello

Invention was your solitude and twin, wasn’t it, Miss Nin? The calculated manner in which you spread secret pages, like silk violet capes or fringed shawls, promising an air of mystery and desire. You enabled the cause of symmetry, so … Continue reading →

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Fante and Bandini

Posted on November 12, 2024 by John Biscello

Inferiority might have been your first memory. Though you were born on American soil, stubbornly planted there, the chinked chains of immigration clanked and rattled, Marley-style, tightening around your throat, as you butted your head against the scabby base of … Continue reading →

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