Fresh Oil and Loose Gravel: Road Poetry by Brian D'Ambrosio 1998-2008
Brian D'Ambrosio
Top 10 Best Quotes
“Charisma is a word that erodes stale on the page. When compared with the tangible, flesh experience it tries to label, it falls short. The only way to understand it, is to meet it.”
“Butterflies, the embodiment of myth, the articulation of the past, first for the elite, then for the rest of us.”
“Pay phones, relics of an almost-vanished landscape, always a touch of seediness and sadness, and a sense of transience, sweaty phones used by men outside maternity wards, feeding them fistfuls of change.”
“American dream, a spouse, a brace of children, cuddly pets, coffee-table books, rusted skeleton keys, plastic cauliflower bags, business cards of business-card printers, a mound of used airmail envelopes. Old house on moving day, all echoes and loneliness.”
“Trying to change someone only makes them cling to their existing behavior with brutish, primal force.”
“Rum is tonic that clarifies the vision, and sets things in true perspective.”
“Life, perhaps less a document than an impression, conveyed through partial glances, stream-of-consciousness juxtapositions, unpredictable rhythms, a collage of sound, a conscientious diarist, a career of blackmail and scandal culminated in murder, a blind man with a will of iron and a nervous system of gossamer.”
“I’m a migrant worker picking frozen peas, and a clodhopper hiding behind a white sheet. I’m a shootout at Ruby Ridge, and a freefall of flames. I am closed for the winter, and crawling in my playpen. I am cold, and quick chatter and beautiful smiles. I am a man missing a limb, and lettuce and tomatoes. I am a palace, and fresh milk and goat cheese. I’m the great emptiness among Cubans, and a job that requires the auditing of truth and lies. I’m a confounding calm that will shatter fear and complacency, and a town full of self-defined renegades and recluses. I’m a public execution, and a lanky husband waiting by the checkout.”
“There is such a quiet desperation and chronic sense of dullness to Helena, Montana, which makes it the most socially grotesque and culturally bitter of any of the capital cities.”
“She lives in a town of sorry history, indifferent to ethical perspectives, apathetic to female attributes, cargo and trunk liners, spilled oil in the garage, telephone poles shaped like liquor bottles, sustaining burly weather, cardiac distressing cold, tobacco and mortality, lying face-up on the bar’s concrete floor, no one can waste a life faster than a Montana redneck.”
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