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Olivia Nimm

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[10 Oct 2007|09:49am]
oh, and yesterday i discovered the creepiest thing ever. i totally want to go.
train director

[10 Oct 2007|09:41am]
i'm happy that it's finally raining. i'm happy for jackets and umbrellas.
train director

[23 Sep 2007|07:00pm]
My new house is sweet & basically it would seem that I was wrong about how this was a bad idea. Probably.

Recently I have been very into not being in school and keeping negative people out of my life. I think it is working out.
train director

.125 [25 Jul 2007|05:04pm]

John White Alexander (1856-1915)
Isabella and the Pot of Basil, 1897
Oil on canvas


From Myths and Legends of Flowers, Trees, Fruits, and Plants by Charles M. Skinner, c. 1911 by J.B. Lippincott Company

"Isabella, whose story has been told by Boccaccio, Keats, and Hunt, in tale, poem, and picture, was a maid of Messina who, left to her own resources by her brothers--they being rich and absorbed in business--found solace in the company of Lorenzo, the comely manager of their enterprises. The brothers noted the meetings, but, wishing to avoid a scandal, they pretended to have seen nothing. Finally they bade Lorenzo to a festival outside of the city, and there slew him. They told their sister that Lorenzo had been sent on a long journey, but when days, weeks, even months, had passed, she could no longer restrain her uneasiness, and asked when he would return. "What do you mean?" demanded one of the brothers. "What have you in common with such as Lorenzo? Ask for him farther, and you shall be answered as you deserve."

Isabella kept her chamber for that day, a victim to fears and doubts; but in her solitude she called on her lover, making piteous moan that he would return. And he did so; for when she had fallen asleep, Lorenzo's ghost appeared, pale, blood-drabbled, with garments rent and mouldy, and addressed her: "Isabella, I can never return to you, for on the day we saw each other last your brothers slew me."

After telling where she might find his body, the speaker melted into air, and in fright she awoke. Unable to shake off the impression of the scene, she fled to the scene of the tragedy, and there, in a space of ground recently disturbed, she came upon Lorenzo, lying as in sleep, for there was a preserving virtue in the soil. She was first for moving the corpse to holy ground, but this would invite discovery, so with a knife she removed the head, and, borrowing "a great and goodly pot," laid it therein, folded in a fair linen cloth, and covered it with earth. Some basil of Salerno she then planted, and it was her comfort to guard the growing plant sprung from her lover's flesh, and water it with essences and orange water, but oftener with tears.

Tended so with love and care, the plant grew strong and filled the room with sweetness. Her home-staying and the pallor of weeping led the brothers to wonder, and, thinking to cure her of a mental malady, they took away the flower. She cried unceasingly for its return, and the men, still marveling, spilt it from its tub to find if she had hidden anything beneath its root; and in truth she had, for there they found the mouldering head which, by its fair and curling hair, they recognized as Lorenzo's. Realizing that the murder had been discovered, they buried the relic anew, and fled to Naples. Isabella died of heart-emptiness, still lamenting her pot of basil."
2 peculiar noises| train director

.124 [18 Jul 2007|02:05pm]
Buffalo '66 might be my new favorite movie.
train director

[15 Jul 2007|07:13pm]
I need another good book. I wish a Hemingway novel would last me longer than fortyeight hours.

&I need a storm.



...among other things.


2 peculiar noises| train director

.122 [22 Jun 2007|10:01am]
...been listeing to cocorosie on repeat.
...been sewing, crocheting, planning, scheming.
...dreamed of kevin kinsey, kendra, haunted industrial buildings, art, space.
...woke up with an overwhelming desire to go to maine for a while, to be around the quiet and the fields and the trees and so much more sky. thought about festival & howmuch i used to love it as a child. briefly entertained the notion of switching around my schedule to go home for it, but.

...god, i'm really so fucking broke. but i'm going out tonight anyway. because it's summer.
train director

[11 Jun 2007|10:16am]
i wonder what it is that makes me wake up unsure.

i dreamed i wrote pages and pages of eloquent phrases.


oh, june.
train director

.1564891651684635 [24 May 2007|01:14pm]
My shoulders and arms and palms are sore thanks to riesling-fueled over-enthusiasm for the zipline at the Tainted Lands last night. Which is just dumb.
train director

.118 / today's acquisitions [01 May 2007|08:52pm]
. Glenn Miller on vinyl
. Hemingway's A Farewell To Arms
. the knowledge that I've finally tied up all of my loose ends and am now officially eligible for commencement. My name is on the list and everything. (Huge sigh of relief, because, to be honest, I was beginning to get a bit nervous that I would fuck everything up.)
1 peculiar noise| train director

.116 [04 Apr 2007|02:29pm]
I have so much to do and am greatly anticipating life after graduation.
I want to be a real person again; being in school for years&years&years&years&years&years in a row has made me feel like I've lost something of myself.
Or maybe it has nothing to do with school and everything to do with me.
It is so hard to know sometimes.
train director

.115 [31 Mar 2007|11:56am]
Things I hate include: recently discovered and rapidly growing holes in the crotch of my favourite jeans.
2 peculiar noises| train director

.112 [22 Mar 2007|01:09pm]
I listened to this earlier today while eating breakfast. On Point is always incredible, but this particular episode about reading and writing had me completely enthralled. This is why Tom Ashbrook is kindof my hero.
train director

.111 [21 Mar 2007|01:46pm]
n.

bruise these lips.
train director

.110 [20 Mar 2007|12:11pm]
She is a palpable presence.
I see so much of myself in her -- I don't want to. I resent the thought that she could be like me, or me like her.
She is always in my mind.

Our red lips match.

I want something from her. I don't yet know what that could be.
train director

.109 [17 Mar 2007|10:38am]
"I'm going to have to be alone with her at some point. There are some things we need to talk about, some questions I need answered. Like why she keeps sending me love letters from Latvia."

I became suddenly aware of the snow. "...I've been wondering about that myself."
train director

.108 [15 Mar 2007|03:50pm]
good hair is very important.
1 peculiar noise| train director

.107 [12 Mar 2007|06:07pm]
i wish nick cave was still 25 and it was the eighties and we could make out.





okay okay.

okay okay.
train director

.106 [11 Mar 2007|06:42pm]
Everything is all domesticity and television.
train director

.ilosttrackofwhatnumberi'msupposedtobeon [07 Mar 2007|01:36pm]
seriously i wanna dance with you to eighties music across floors sticky with cheap beer it will be like we're in a film

Ah.
train director

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