Tag Archives: writing

Of Place and Haunt

Posted on October 11, 2025 by John Biscello

It was a town caught in the thorny stasis between living and dying, between mortuary and chrysalis. I want to examine why it is I am drawn to places like this, why I always return to this specific feeling of … Continue reading →

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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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Because I Dreamed

Posted on September 10, 2025 by John Biscello

I never say the babies’ names, because there is danger in that. I know that their names spoken, details given, things brought too much into the light, means we can be found. Their ears own so much: text, air, radio-waves, … Continue reading →

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Fable

Posted on September 8, 2025 by John Biscello

I have become moonless in my grief, a paled comparison. But to what? To who I used to be? What I expected to become? I feel as if I’ve been laid out an operating table, and Time, as a methodically … Continue reading →

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Night

Posted on September 7, 2025 by John Biscello

At night I go out, scorched and empty. I pool inside myself all day, every day, a sipping and flooding, and then I carry this out with me into the night. There is a hissing that I can hear out … Continue reading →

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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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Bed

Posted on September 4, 2025 by John Biscello

I lie in wait. Hell is supposed to come anytime now. That’s what the others started calling that which was scheduled to come: hell. You would think that humans wouldn’t want to coordinate or administrate hell, but it seems they … Continue reading →

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Knife

Posted on September 1, 2025 by John Biscello

My sister says she doesn’t have many memories from childhood. When she looks back, there’s nothing there: a blank screen. I never asked her if she saw black or white in her absence of memories. One of her earliest memories, … 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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Voices of Taos

Posted on July 30, 2025 by John Biscello

It was good times getting to sip coffee in the radio booth with Lynne Robinson, as we created our “on-air cafe” and chatted about theater, movies, working with youth, the writing life, Patti Smith, and the scheduled release of two … Continue reading →

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