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Vagabond Scribe

(Leahs Backstory)
Act Two
Elusive Lifelines
A Work of Fiction
Elayne Zalis

Vagabond Scribe (Leahs Backstory)

Copyright 2008 Elayne Zalis
All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN-13: 978-1434833761
ISBN-10: 1434833763
No part of this book, including the images, may be reproduced or transmitted in
any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,
recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission
in writing from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the
product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely
Cover art: Russia Sent (front) and The Beatles (back) are from Give-A-Show
Projector, a computer graphics series, 2007 Elayne Zalis. All images in the text are
from this series.

To my teachers



Act One: A Childs Space

Fifth-Grade School Sing

Love Potion Number Nine



Act Two: Elusive Lifelines


Act Three: Vagabond Scribe


Afterword: Transforming Dear Diary





he young Leah as a woman archives traces of her life. She begins the
first stage of her retrospective in the mid-1980s, at the opening of
Vagabond Scribe. Many years have passed since she left Miami, the place of
her birth, her childhood, her breakdowns and awakenings. Her wanderings
have brought her to the American Midwest, the countrys heartland. Far
from her hometown, separated by time and space, she feels ready to
commemorate the South Florida chapters of her past.
From her latest stopover, a protective retreat, Leah taps into both
personal and cultural memories while also weaving together magical forays
into other worlds. Her early diaries and journals help, and so do her old
letters, as well as her collection of books and memorabilia. She follows
paper trails, leads to real and imagined places she has visited along the way.
She focuses on representative periods from her childhood (196465), teens
(196971), and young adulthood (197580). The texts that aid her memory
work provide valuable signposts not only as she looks backward but also as
she looks ahead.
Her mission becomes clear: to transform her archive into forms she
can share with others. Hence this collection, a work-in-progress that looks
behind the scenes at a memory bank in the making, a resource for ideas and
inspiration. For now, Leah offers previews of stories to come. At times she
changes names, masks identities, and adds creative embellishments. Fact
and fiction blend.

Orange Bowl



s I work through old texts found again, I set new stories in motion,
new dances in flight. This exercise revives discourses that I
associate with my high school years in Miami. Simultaneously archiving
documents from a teenagers personal world and positioning that
teenager as her own archivist some twenty years later, the retrospective
also chronicles a middle-aged womans retracing of where she has been
and reconfiguring of where she is going.
Although only fragments remain of my writing from this period, I
find my way to an imaginary space where two generations meet, and
once more, with a novices zeal, I succumb to the unknown, vulnerable
yet awakened. Memories too shattering to touch I have chosen not to
reinscribe. Each font signifies a recurring strand of my story:
Arialinscriptions in my high school yearbooks and notes from
Palatinoquotations from assorted texts I read (and still own):
most selections were starred, underlined, or highlighted.
Timesmy teenage writing


Dear Leah,
Keep cool and may God bless you with many ounces.
Although our thoughts may be different in some areas, I still
respect you for being yourself and respecting others for what they
stand for in society. The world is so full of hypocrisy, lies, filth, and
war. You stand out among the rest, a flower among weeds, calm,
understanding and humane. You are truly an individual, and it is
that quality (amid many) which I admire so much in you. But,
Leah, it is so hard to express what I want so badly to say. To a
real cool chick who is flipped out but is very emotional and crazy.
Ive really had very nice times with you and Ill always love you.
Keep up everything you do now, because I want you to enjoy life.
Just be careful! Peace on Earth1
No, I am not really bad-tempered. Rather, the fact is that I
have never succeeded in being anything at allwhether
kind-hearted or cruel, a villain or a saint, a hero or an
insect. I just crouch here in this den of mine and worry
myself with the irritating, the useless, reflection that, after
all, a man of parts cannot become anything; for only a fool
does that. . . . Forty years have been the span of my life,
and forty years are a lifetimethey are the most extreme
limit of old age. To live longer than that seems indecent,
base, immoral. Who would want to live longer than that?
Answer mesincerely, and from your heart.2
The moon has mooned a twinkling twinkle borrowed from the stars, and
in that glow you are a smile gleaming from my own.3
In those days I walked about as though I were blind. I felt
frenzieseach step was a new danger. I saw nothing in
front of me except the unfathomable darkness into which
all paths I had taken until now had led and vanished.4 It
was as if that great rush of anger had washed me clean,
emptied me of hope, and gazing up at the dark sky



spangled with its signs and stars, for the first time, the
first, I laid my heart open to the benign indifference of the
universe.5 Now I knew: things are entirely what they
appear to beand behind them . . . there is nothing.6 It is
only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is
essential is invisible to the eye.7
Did you recognize me at once?
Of course. Youve changed somewhat. But you have
the sign.
The sign. What kind of sign?
We used to call it the mark of Cain earlier. . . . Its our
sign. Youve always had it, thats why I became your
friend. But now it has become more distinct.8
Time it was, it was a timea time of joys, of sorrows, of
pledges of allegiance, of talks (some with, some without meaning),
and of silent interchange. Leah, you are unique, you are yourself
(something which few really understand), and I consider you a
friend. Thank you for all that you have been and will be, for you
have truly touched my life. The future is much too far away to
conjecture wishes about, so I give you today: may all twenty-four
hours of it, despite its conflicts, reward you with the love and joy
you may seek. Go in Beauty.
They are playing a game. They are playing at not playing a
game. If I show them I see they are, I shall break the rules
and they will punish me. I must play their game, of not
seeing I see the game.9 The aim of a way of liberation is
not the destruction of maya but seeing it for what it is, or
seeing through it. Play is not to be taken seriously, or, in
other words, ideas of the world and of oneself which are
social conventions and institutions are not to be confused
with reality.10



Once one has experienced LSD, existential revolution,

fought the intellectual game-playing of the individual in
society, of ones identity, one realizes that action is the only
reality; not only reality but morality as well.11

Richard Wrights Black Boy presents Wright as a victim of white society,

challenging its restraints just as the black boy in the poster confronts
the sneering grin of a white monster hiding within the crevices of
authoritarian impositions and provocative expectations. Wright as black
boy impatiently sits in the corner of white society envisioning
tomorrows possibilities as he adjusts to the light shed on his present

Tuesday: Nothing. Existed.12 Across the room from the

Acutes are the culls of the Combines product, the
Chronics. Not in the hospital, these, to get fixed, but just to
keep them from walking around the street giving the
product a bad name. . . . What the Chronics areor most
of usare machines with flaws inside that cant be
repaired, flaws born in, or flaws beat in over so many
years of the guy running head-on into solid things that by
the time the hospital found him he was bleeding rust in
some vacant lot.13 Yippie! was in the eye of the beholder.14
I grok it, agreed Jubal. Language itself shapes a mans
Give Peace A Chance.
basic ideas.15

*An innovative, open-minded young man interned for a semester in my twelfthgrade English class. He was a valued alternative to Mr. Cromwell, the dour English
teacher in charge. The interns creative and politically astute assignments impressed me.
The quoted passage is from Confrontations, my response to a poster he presented to the
class after we read Black Boy in the spring of 1971. The book, and our class discussion of
it, opened up the literary canon in exciting ways and raised timely issues other teachers
had avoided.



Basic Millet
4 cups seasoned stock
1 cup millet, raw

3 tablespoons dill
3 tablespoon sparsely minced

Heat stock in top of double boiler over direct heat. When boiling,
add millet. Stir. Cover and boil for 2 minutes. Add dill. Put over
bottom of double boiler, to which hot water has been added.
Cover. Cook gently for about 30 minutes . . . . Garnish with
parsley before serving.16
Did you understand a word of it? the chief clerk
was asking; surely he cant be trying to make fools of us?
Oh dear, cried his mother, in tears, perhaps hes
terribly ill and were tormenting him. Grete! Grete! she
called out then.
Yes Mother? called his sister from the other side.
They were calling to each other across Gregors room.
You must go this minute for the doctor. Gregor is ill.
Go for the doctor, quick. Did you hear how he was
That was no human voice, said the chief clerk in a
voice noticeably low beside the shrillness of the
To Our Childrens Childrens Children18
The Sound and the Fury19
I know what you meant about being alone: Eighteen years old
and stillvery muchalone. Ive tried looking with my heart
instead of my eyes, but love still eludes me.20




If the
formation is itself off course, then the man who is really to get
on course must leave the formation. But it is possible to do
so, if one desires, without screeches and screams, and
without terrorizing the already terrified formation that one
has to leave.22 So thats it, thought I. Theyve disfigured
this good old wall with an electric sign.

But one day the why arises and everything begins in

that weariness tinged with amazement. . . . Weariness
comes at the end of the acts of a mechanical life, but at the
same time it inaugurates the impulse of consciousness.24
My equation: Being = Principle + Mind + Soul + Spirit + Life +
Truth + Love. May you claim your right to all of these and
experience the joy they hold. Hope to see you at every single
concert around. I can always notice you and you only so you have
to be there. Words are so limiting and I really dont know how to
say how I feel, but for you Ill try: There have been many times
when Ive been in a very strange state of mind and needed
someone to listen and try to help, and you were there to listen to
me and to try to understand. I have often had difficulty
understanding you, but I think either youre getting more
coherent or were both going insane. Keep your head cool and
in place. HES A SPY.
I may as well come right out with it: I was one of those
clairaudient infants whose mental development is
completed at birth and after that merely needs a certain
amount of filling in. The moment I was born I took a very
critical attitude toward the first utterances to slip from my



parents beneath the light bulbs.25

They are not having
fun. I cant have fun if they dont. If I get them to have fun,
then I can have fun with them. Getting them to have fun, is
not fun. It is hard work. . . . But there is even some fun in
pretending to them Im not having fun finding out why
theyre not.26
A Ping-Pong Manual or the Love Life of a Kazoo
Irving is a little wiggly wobbly worm who lives inside a ping-pong ball.
We used to be roommates way back whenwhen the skies were orange
dandelions and the moon a tangerine radiating sunflower seeds and
purple gumdrops.
Irving is my idol. I love little Irving. He is such a wiggly wobbly.
His joyous wobbling as hes pinged and ponged is like music to my ears.
It has such a tingling tonesweet enough to tame a teacher and even
tempt a kazoo!
A slight glimpse reveals Irvings worming around in blissful
solitude, oblivious to all the earnest ping-pongers who speculate and
theorize and even guess about the origin of the distant tingle. . . .27
Red Zinger 29
The Sunshine State30
Peacock Park28
Pictures in old childrens books have an enormous power.
We, in seeing them, are made to know again that glorious
moment when we first entered the kingdom of books.31
i will forever be thankful to you, beautiful Leah, for bringing a
little cheer into my sordid, sinning life. you are the only person I
know who can write a singing, bouncing letter! congratulations!!!
yes, its true! i have changed: completelytotallyirrevocably
altered. THE OLDE SELF IS NO MORE! in its place is a quiet,
introverted, sensitive soul. he says hello. from now on im on a
diet of spirit, piety and wheat germ. . . . (i stopped taking notes,
tsk! tsk!)
well, its been nice talking to you from world hystre.



Ways to Serve Sprouts

raw, as separate dish

in breakfast dishes

in tossed salads

in vegetable casseroles

garnish for soups & casseroles

in souffls

blend into beverages

stewed with tomatoes

blend into sandwich spread

in sauces32

Gregors desire to see his mother was soon fulfilled.

During the daytime he did not want to show himself at the
window, out of consideration for his parents, but he could
not crawl very far around the few square yards of floor
space he had, nor could he bear lying quietly at rest all
during the night. . . . He especially enjoyed hanging
suspended from the ceiling; it was much better than lying
on the floor. . . .33
Was I really to live through all this again? All this
torture, all this pressing need, all these glimpses into the
paltriness and worthlessness of my own self, the frightful
dread lest I succumb, and the fear of death. Wasnt it better
and simpler to prevent a repetition of so many sufferings
and to quit the stage?34
He said science was going to discover the basic secret
of life someday, the bartender put in. He scratched his
head and frowned. Didnt I read in the paper the other
day where theyd finally found out what it was?
I missed that, I murmured.
I saw that, said Sandra. About two days ago.
Thats right, said the bartender.
What is the secret of life? I asked.
I forgot, said Sandra.



Protein, the bartender declared. They found out

something about protein.
Yeah, said Sandra, thats it.35
There are drums beyond the Mountain, Indian drums that
you cant hear, there are drums beyond the Mountain, and
The air now clearly
theyre getting loud and clear.36
swarms with unsettling new spirits. Even the most myopic
Americans are becoming steadily more conscious of what
H. G. Wells called the shrinking and fugitive sense that
something is happening so that life will never be quite the
same again. Far more insistent and persistent and
inherently radical than campus disruptions is the quiet,
contemporaneous spectre of revolution-minded young
folk, resolvedly desperate, wrenched from their rooms and
out to discover, or forge for themselves, not just something
so simple as a totally different ordering of social reality,
but an entire new heaven and a new earth.37

I wish to tell you, gentlemen . . . why I have never even

been able to become an insect.39

Ill give you my mother-in-laws slippers if

youll give me your husbands coffin. . . .

MRS. SMITH: Im waiting for the aqueduct to come and see

me at my windmill.




One can prove that social progress is

definitely better with sugar.


hell with polishing!40

Different. Thats how it has been knowing you. But I will get to
know you better because you are a real personand I dig real
people. I hope you find whatever it is you are looking for; inside
we all are looking for something. To a real friendly girl whos
great to rap with. We Shall Overcome!!! I want only the very
best for you. Only happiness. You radiate such good vibes; I want
you to be rewarded with the same. But most of all, I hope you find
spiritual peace, be it in a flower, another person, or free
expression. This year you have been a lot different than in the
two years Ive known you. I like the way you have changed and
hope you change more.
Its coming has been proclaimed so often that one hesitates
to announce again the arrival of The New American
Movie. But as far as Im concerned, Alices Restaurant
clinches the matter, proving that Faces and Easy Rider,
Putney Swope and Medium Cool are neither accidents nor a
coincidence. . . .41 Why Must More Die?42
astray one day in a dreamy cotton candy wonderland looking for a
smile, we, gentle tiptoers, romped with auras of magic and sighed as the
radiance waned.
a bubble-light mirage diffuses across new space; snap shot images
oscillate, superimposed negatives en route to a fair glow. somewhere, a
perennial twilight entertains prancing spirits and carousel memories.43
We are urging all students who are firm in their
convictions, and wish to participate in anti-War activities
during the day, to consult their parents and get their
permission. A note for a pre-arranged absence is a must. In
the event that unfair punitive measures are taken, the
Florida Mobilization Committee will make a concerted


effort to intervene on your behalf, in cooperation with

members of the clergy. Please begin to encourage the
administration of your school to hold a Moratorium for
Peace Rally at either 11:00 A.M. (or at 2:00 P.M. if your
school is on the split session). These programs are to be
carried out in a solemn and serious manner.44 One must
imagine Sisyphus happy.45
Intellectual grasp is not enough; you will never
understand Yoga completely from outside; it has to
happen to you. Only in this way will you get to know your
weaknesses and strengths, and with the right teacher,
correct and perfect yourself.
How would I know the teacher was right?
The student must feel inspired by his teacher. Just as
the sunrise, stars, flowers, and forests inspire, the teacher,
or guru, inspires the pupil with his own strength, purpose,
and serenity. And this transmits the power needed to
follow hisor herteachings.
She gave me a gentle smile. If the pupil is ready, the
master will appear.46
expressly insane. i have lost all contact. i am a hill in the midst
of a clearing hoping for rain. i have no hope. time goes on like this:
[row of arrows] and one is caught here: [entrapment drawn].
mumbo mumble mumbo pazootle munnunmumom pazpaz
pazoooooooo is the sound that our individual engines make.
slowly they go around and keep us going until one day they stop
like frozen molasses, all sweet and gooey. put them all together
and that is my life right now. I AM AN ABSTRACT THOUGHT.
look for people with the mark on their fore-head. we are
caught up in a samsara machine. each of us is a sleeping boa



constrictor. peace-ful, unquestioned, plodding forth in our serrated

vestiges and false realities.
expressly insane. i have lost all contact
This was the general drift of our conversations. They rarely
confronted me with anything completely new, anything
altogether astonishing. But everything, even the most
ordinary matters, resembled gentle persistent hammer
blows on the same spot within me; all of them helped me
to form myself, all of them helped to peel off layers of skin, to
break eggshells, and after each blow I lifted my head a little
higher, a little more freely.47 Existence is what I am afraid
of.48 next to of course god america i/ love you land of the
pilgrims and so forth oh/ say can you see by the dawns
early my/ country tis of centuries come and go/ and are no
more what of it we should worry/ in every language even
deafanddumb/ thy sons acclaim your glorious name by
gorry/ by jingo by gee by gosh by gum. . . .49
Twelve years of institutionalized, standardized school are
almost over, finally. Ive enjoyed knowing you, especially playing
Frisbee, riding bicycles, and all that neat stuff. I must admit that
meeting such a leftist radical as you was quite an experience.
Your smile, sense of humor, and interesting conversations lifted
the boring atmosphere in homeroom. Best of luck in college and
stay away from J. Edgar. To be completely honest, I think that
you are one of the most thinking people I know. (I mean that to
be a complimentthere are too many mindless people around.)
Take care of yourself and stay yourself. Love and Unicorns. Ive
known you only a couple of years but I feel closer than that. Ive
seen people change and you took a change for the betterfor
me, my time will come. Be good and dont eat any meat.



In one of the stars I shall be living. In one of them I shall be

laughing. And so it will be as if all the stars were laughing,
when you look at the sky at night. . . . Youonly you
will have stars that can laugh!50 He no longer saw the face
of his friend Siddhartha. Instead he saw other faces, many
faces, a long series, a continuous stream of faces
hundreds, thousands, which all came and disappeared and
yet all seemed to be there at the same time, which all
continually changed and renewed themselves and which
were yet all Siddhartha. . . . Each one was mortal, a
passionate, painful example of all that is transitory. Yet
none of them died, they only changed, were always
reborn, continually had a new face: only time stood
between one face and another.51
Raskolnikovs intense misery and schizophrenia enable him to let in
light which does not enter the intact minds of many sane people whose
minds are closed, a condition that R. D. Laing associates with the
cracked mind of the schizophrenic [Divided Self, 27]. Under such
circumstances, Raskolnikov has glimpses of a deeper meaning of life
and, to a certain extent, he sees through the conventions established by a
blind society. . . . His inability to feel a sense of belonging or to fit in,
combined with his developing insight, causes him to feel different from
the others, gradually leading to his theory of the extraordinary and
ordinary man.52
Lover, there will be another one wholl hover over you
beneath the sun, tomorrow, see the things that never come
today. When you see me fly away without you, shadow on
the things you know, feathers fall around you and show
you the way to go. Its over. Its over. Nestle in your wings
my little one, the morning will bring another sun,
tomorrow, see the things that never come today.53



Our small, co-ed, rural liberal arts college began in 1963

when a group of young teachers were given the
opportunity to organize a new college at a former
mountain resort. Their educational goal was all-around
human development, not intellectual attainment alone.
Students who have done well in high school usually
succeed here if their past success has not been dependent
on obedience and the desire for adult approval. He was
alone. He was unheeded, happy, and near to the wild
heart of life. He was alone and young and willful and
wildhearted, alone amidst a waste of wild air and brackish
waters and the seaharvest of shells and tangle and veiled
grey sunlight.54
That the Western artist now finds his own inherited
classical form unconvincing and indeed almost intolerable
is because of a profound change in his total attitude
toward the world. . . . The final intelligibility of the world
is no longer accepted. Our existence, as we know it, is no
longer transparent and understandable by reason, bound
together into a tight, coherent structure.55
gentle field
mothering lost children
streams with nowhere to go
rushing through distant light
estranged souls.56

The passage appeared in a catalogue I received in 1970 from the small,

experimental college in New England I would attend the next year. I also received a
stunning postcard of the picturesque campus nestled in the mountains. From my vantage
point in the Miami flatlands, this college represented a magical haven conducive to
intellectual enlightenment and personal development. I learned about the school when its
young, visionary president appeared on a late-night talk show the summer of 1970. At the
time, I was not planning to attend college, since for me educational institutions as I knew
them seemed stultifying. Fortunately, this college inspired me to reconsider my views.



MR. SMITH: Well,

were sorry to see you go.


have been very entertaining.


Thanks to you, we have passed a truly

Cartesian quarter of an hour.

[moving towards the door, then stopping]:

Speaking of thatthe bald soprano? [General silence,




always wears her hair in the same style.

Then goodby, ladies and gentlemen.57

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste and remember

what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible,
without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others,
even to the dull and ignorant: they, too, have their story to
tell . . . . Beyond a wholesome discipline be gentle with
yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the
trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And
whether it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is
unfolding as it should. . . . With all its sham, drudgery and
broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful,
Strive to be happy. In Watermelon Sugar58

Desiderata, a poem by Max Ehrmann, was printed on a pamphlet distributed by

the Theosophical Society of Miami. My older friend Arthur, a wise hippie whom I had
met at a metaphysical bookstore in Coconut Grove, gave it to me during the fall of 1969
when I was sixteen, a junior in high school. For a while, I attended weekly spiritual
meetings in the Grove with Arthur, as his guest. We listened to tapes produced by a
mystic in California. This gathering of primarily middle-aged people had group
meditations, participated in private astral projections, and dabbled in a range of mystical
experiences. Although most members of the group did not appreciate artificial highs,
spirited drug enthusiasts occasionally dropped by. At this time, I was exploring
vegetarianism, reincarnation, and Hermann Hesse. For guidance, I often turned to Arthur,
my personal guru. He was in his midtwenties then.



To the class freak from the class weirdo. I really enjoyed

being in the same government class as you. Your strange ideas
made the class interesting, even though the subject was a drag.
We both know that when the revolution comes we wont need
government, but until that time remember that knowledge is
power. Stay a friendly person all your life; youre loveable that
Now hasnt it been an interesting year! Two years of
English and we havent read a really enjoyable novel yet. Keep
fighting for what you believe inwe need a change! A friend is
someone I can communicate with and I think Ive achieved that
with you. Youre one of the few people I know who can get into
anything as quickly as you do. Leah, in you I feel I have found a
friend amongst friends, a person amongst people. You have
taught me so much and given so muchand asked for nothing in
return. I hate to sound trite, but I sincerely hope you find your
fulfillment. Power to the People
Cosmic consciousness is a release from selfconsciousness, that is to say from the fixed belief and
feeling that ones organism is an absolute and separate
thing, as distinct from a convenient unit of perception.59
Go high to meetings.60 We find, as Trilling points out, that
Shakespeare does depict characters who evidently
experience themselves as real and alive and complete
however riddled by doubts or torn by conflicts they may
be. With Kafka this is not so. Indeed, the effort to
communicate what being alive is like in the absence of
such assurances seems to characterize the work of a
number of writers and artists of our time. Life, without
feeling alive.61 CUSTER HAD IT COMING.62
The American Indian is once again on the warpath, this time for
peace and tranquility and preservation of the Indian way of life. For
years the American Indian has remained a silent minority. Robbed of his
land and banished to the reservation, he remained isolated from the white
society around him and kept his frustration and poverty to himself.



Since World War II a new Indian has been emerging. These new
Indians have been educated in the ways of the white man and are
knowledgeable of life off the reservation. They are no longer willing to
accept misery and second-class citizenship.63
Today many thoughtful people are turning back the pages
of modern food-processing history, seeking out the good
old flavors, textures and nutrients of the natural foods
their grandparents enjoyed. This is no longer just a passing
whim of a small minority, but an earnest search by
doctors, dentists, nutritionists and health-minded people
everywhere. . . . Modern processing methods remove or
destroy the vital nutrients of many foods. Artificial colors,
chemical preservatives and a host of other additives
further alter their natural qualities. . . . Foods treated in
this manner may appear brighter and may last longer, but
the people who eat them dont.64
So the Hieronymus Bosch bus headed out of Keseys
place with the destination sign in front reading Further
and a sign in the back saying Caution: Weird Load. It
was weird, all right, but it was euphoria on board,
barreling through all that warm California sun in July, on
the road. . . . 65
Weve had some far-out experiences (remember our dead
sorority days, for example). But at least the sorority was good for
one thingit made us sisters. This has been a very funny year
for me; many new ideas have formed and sometimes I dont know
if they are good or bad. I know one thing for sure: my
conversations with you and Alan and Rene in English were
partially effective in bringing about an unbelievable conflict in my
mind. You and the things you believe in made me look at myself.
Im really happy that I got to know you this year. Ive only gotten
into your head a few times, but these talks have been very
beautiful. Stay as clean as possible, because Id really hate to



see you in any sort of trouble. May you have Love, Peace, and
Happiness in everything you do.

should be here.

didnt say for sure hed come.


if he doesnt come?


come back to-morrow.


then the day after to-morrow.

VLADIMIR: Possibly.

so on.

point is


he comes.66

We have both read many books, but I believe The Prophet

stands out among all the rest. To me, it is a very special book and
to you I give it because you are such a special person to me. Life
can be fulfilling and happy; you must never give up to make it so.
Put your whole self into lifehave the desire to liveand you
shall truly live, not merely exist. Words are often so inadequate
but I hope you feel the affection that comes with this book.67
Then she thought, (in a dream within the dream . . .) how
this same little Alice would, in the after-time, be herself a
grown woman: and how she would keep, through her
riper years, the simple and loving heart of her childhood:
and how she would gather around her other little children,
and make their eyes bright and eager with many a
wonderful tale, perhaps even with these very adventures
of the little Alice of long-ago: and how she would feel with
all their simple sorrows, and find a pleasure in all their
simple joys, remembering her own child-life, and the
happy summer days.68
The Magic Mountain69



Lentil Soup
1 1/2 cups lentils
1/2 quarts stock
1/2 teaspoon tarragon
2 stalks celery, chopped
2 tablespoons oil

1 tablespoon celery seeds

1 onion, sliced
2 carrots, diced
1/2 cups stewed tomatoes
1 tablespoon lemon juice

Place lentils in pot. Add stock and salt. Cover. Simmer until
almost tender. Add rest of ingredients. Cover. Simmer until
carrots are done, about 15 minutes longer.70
The film Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge, based on a short story by
Ambrose Bierce, shows that Man is afraid of death and seeks escape
from this inevitability by creating self-deceiving illusions. Farquhars
fear of death leads him to seek refuge in his dream, just as Man uses
illusions to escape the reality of an inevitable end. In this process of selfdeception, Man is always running, rarely allowing himself to enjoy life.
When he stops running, he stops living, as with Farquhar.
Acceptance of Death often sheds a new light on Life, shattering
many illusions. After Farquhar realizes the actual reality of his death, he
becomes aware of all that hes missed and views life from a more natural
perspective. The dream represents the second chance he desiresto hug
the trees, roll in the sand, caress a rose. His realization comes too late,
ending in an unsuccessful attempt to recapture LIFE.71
Hermine, I cried tenderly, sister, how clearly you see!
And yet you taught me the fox trot!72

Thousands Stage Rallies Debating Morality of War

Protests Continue Into Night With Candlelight Service
at U. of Miami
Why I Protest: A Student; An Enlistee; A Grandmother73




We always find something, eh Didi, to give us

the impression we exist?

VLADIMIR: (impatiently). Yes yes, were magicians. But let

us persevere in what we have resolved, before we forget.

. . . (Vladimir succeeds finally in getting on the boot.)74

Whatever you become, teacher, scholar, or musician, have
respect for the meaning, but do not imagine that it can
be taught.75 On the Loose76 Above all, the capacity of our
emerging technocratic paradise to denature the
imagination . . . will render it impossible for men to give
any name to their bothersomely unfulfilled potentialities
but that of madness.77
a small, reaching tree-person stretching fingers of New Life to
the golden light of the sky and singing in pale-green softness
becomes The Wind. Run singing and laughing through this book.
friendship and peace.
And at last, slowly, afraid he would find nothing, Douglas
opened one eye.
And everything, absolutely everything, was there.
The world, like a great iris of an even more gigantic
eye, which has also just opened and stretched out to
encompass everything, stared back at him. . . .
Im really alive! he thought. I never knew it before, or
if I did I dont remember!78
What is forbidden, in other words, is not something
eternal; it can change. . . . That is why each of us has to find
out for himself what is permitted and what is forbidden
forbidden for him.79 Im going to bed. Im cured. Ill give
up writing my daily impressions, like a girl in her nice new


notebook.80 The dreadful has already happened.81

the point is to live.82


To begin at the beginning is not a simple task. For who is to

say when, in all reality, no one actually knows. And granted if
someone does know, then who, ladies and gentlemen of the jury,
cares. I for one am of the previous camp. I feel that in my capacity
as a budding genius, the law does not grant me the right to obtain
the knowledge necessary to support one or more of the specific
cases in question. Therefore, I conclude, to write a beginning is
not possible and hence I will begin at the end. Siempre espero
que la suerte te sonria.



Notes: Act Two


Text formatted this way represents classmates (and some

teachers) inscriptions in my eleventh- and twelfth-grade yearbooks and
notes from friends, Miami, 197071.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Letters from the Underworld, trans. C. J.

Hogarth (New York: Dutton, 1957), 7.

Leah, The Moon, Miami, Fall 1970. Fragments like this are
all that remain of my personal writing from high school and college. I
destroyed the rest during a hysterical rage several years later, a profound
and regrettable loss.

Herman Hesse, Demian: The Story of Emil Sinclairs Youth,

trans. Michael Roloff and Michael Lebeck (New York: Harper and Row,
1965), 109. This novel was a cult classic among the counterculture, along
with most of Hesses other books, all of which my cohorts and I referred
to often. I wrote extensively in my copy, which I managed to save.

Albert Camus, The Stranger, trans. Stuart Gilbert (New York:

Vintage, 1946), 154. I starred many passages in this book.

Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea, trans. Lloyd Alexander (New York:

New Directions, 1964), 96. I borrowed this book from my friend
Gustavo (Gus) in 1970 and inadvertently kept it. He had starred this
passage and many others before lending the book to me.



Antoine de Saint-Exupry, The Little Prince, trans. Katherine

Woods (New York: Harcourt Brace, 1971), 87. This book was a gift.

Hesse, Demian, 114.

R. D. Laing, Knots (New York, Pantheon, 1970), 1.


Alan W. Watts, Psychotherapy East & West (New York:

Ballantine, 1969), 21.

Abbie Hoffman, (Free), Revolution for the Hell of It (New

York: Dial P, 1970), 9. [my emphasis]

Sartre, Nausea, 103. Gus had starred this passage.


Ken Kesey, One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest (New York:
Signet, 1962), 19.

Hoffman, Revolution, 103.


Robert A. Heinlein, Stranger in a Strange Land (New York:

Berkley Medallion Books, 1968), 205. This book was a gift.

Beatrice Trum Hunter, The Natural Foods Cookbook (New

York: Pyramid, 1969), 207. I first tried these recipes during the summer
of 1969, when I began to experiment with vegetarian diets and health
foods. I read many popular books about these topics and shopped at
health food stores when I could. I also frequented vegetarian restaurants
and juice bars, although such places were more plentiful in Coral Gables
or Coconut Grove than in the suburbs where I lived.

Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis, trans. Willa and Edwin

Muir, in The Penal Colony: Stories and Short Pieces (New York:
Schocken, 1965), 79.

The Moody Blues, To Our Childrens Childrens Children,

Polydor Records, 1970. I spent many pleasurable hours listening to this




William Faulkner, The Sound and the Fury (New York:

Random House, 1956). This was one of my favorite novels in eleventh
grade. I liked the stream-of-consciousness style, which Id never
encountered before. My worn copy reflects many notated rereadings
during a time in my life when I was rediscovering a childhood passion
for knowledge and a drive to create. Once again I dreamed of becoming a

My friend Tanya mailed this note to me the summer after we

graduated from high school. She wrote her message on a postcard.

Hoffman, Revolution, 155.


R. D. Laing, The Politics of Experience (New York: Pantheon,

1967), 82. [original emphasis]

Herman Hesse, Steppenwolf, trans. Basil Creighton (New

York: Holt, Rinehart, 1969), 37. I reread this novel many times in high
school, which my elaborate marginalia indicate.

Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays, trans.

Justin OBrien (New York: Vintage, 1955), 10. I highlighted many
passages in this book when I read it my senior year of high school for a
term paper I was writing on Existentialism.

Gnter Grass, The Tin Drum, trans. Ralph Manheim (New

York: Vintage, 1964), 47.

Laing, Knots, 2.


Leah, Miami, 1971. I wrote this satirical piece for my twelfthgrade English class. My staid teacher, Mr. Cornwell, didnt appreciate it.

During the late 1960s and early 70s, countercultural youth

congregated in Peacock Park, a public space near the Bay in downtown
Coconut Grove. I went there often in high school with Tanya, Deborah,
and Sophie. We had belonged to the same citywide, Jewish sorority.




This popular herbal tea distributed by Celestial Seasonings is

still available. Ive enjoyed Red Zinger and other blends over the years.

The reference to the state of Florida appears on a brochure

aimed at tourists, c. 1970.

Green Tiger Press [catalogue], La Jolla, California, c. 1970.


Hunter, Natural Foods, 21920.


Kafka, Metamorphosis, 100.


Hesse, Steppenwolf, 79.


Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., Cats Cradle (New York: Delta, 1963),


Peter La Farge, Drums, Peter La Farge on the Warpath,

Folkway Records, Hopi Music Publishing, 1965. The lyrics were in my
personal archive.

William Hedgepeth and Dennis Stock, The Alternative:

Communal Life in New America (New York: Macmillan, 1970), 4. The
photographs in this coffee-table book helped to shape my utopian
dreams; so did the new worldviews that Hedgepeth and Stock proposed.

Hesse, Steppenwolf, 187.


Dostoyevsky, Underworld, 9.


Eugne Ionesco, The Bald Soprano, trans. Donald M. Allen,

in Four Plays (New York: Grove P, 1958), 39.

I found a fragment of this anonymous film review in my

personal archive.

Lawrence Mahoney, UM Students Start M-Day Early by

Reading List of War Dead, Miami Herald, October 16, 1969. The



quoted question galvanized the anti-war moratorium. This newspaper

clipping was in my personal archive, a memento from the rally, which I
attended at the University of Miami with friends.

Leah, Carousel Memories, Miami, Spring 1971. The rest of

the piece has been lost to history, along with most of my other personal
writing from this period.

Florida Mobilization Committee to End the War in Vietnam

(FMC), flyer re: October 15, 1969, Moratorium on Business as Usual,
Miami headquarters. This document was also in my personal archive,
another reminder of the anti-war protests I attended at the U. of Miami.

Camus, Sisyphus, 91.


Jess Stearn, Yoga, Youth, and Reincarnation (New York:

Bantam, 1965), 12. I discovered yoga during the spring of 1970.

Hesse, Demian, 89. [my emphasis]


Sartre, Nausea, 160.


e. e. cummings, 100 Selected Poems (New York: Grove P,

1959), 31. This book was a gift.

de Saint-Exupry, Little Prince, 104.


Herman Hesse, Siddhartha, trans. Hilda Rosner (New York:

New Directions, 1951), 121. This book made a strong impression when I
read it the summer of 1969 after Arthur gave it to me. I was never able to
view my life the same way again. Siddhartha was the first book by Hesse
that I read.

Leah, Raskolnikovs Visions, Miami, Fall 1970. This

excerpt is from a paper I wrote for my twelfth-grade English class on
Crime and Punishment. Besides being captivated by the psychological
complexity of Dostoyevskys novel, I was intrigued by Laings writings,
which I read avidly on my own.




Neil Young, Birds, on After the Gold Rush, Reprise

Records, 1970. These song lyrics were in my private collection. A friend
had transcribed them for me.

James Joyce, quoted in Jerry Russell and Renny Russell, On

the Loose (San Francisco: Sierra Club/Ballantine, 1967). The epigraph
appears on the books front cover. This book offered hope.

William Barrett, Irrational Man: A Study in Existential

Philosophy (New York: Doubleday, 1962), 56.

Leah, Estranged Souls, Miami, Fall 1969. This fragment of a

poem I wrote was in my personal archive.

Ionesco, Bald Soprano, 37.


Richard Brautigan, In Watermelon Sugar (New York: Dell,

1968). I liked Brautigans unconventional approach to fiction.

Alan W. Watts, This Is It and Other Essays on Zen and

Spiritual Experience (New York: Collier, 1968), 35.

Hoffman, Revolution, 17.


R. D. Laing, The Divided Self (Middlesex, England: Penguin,

1969), 40.

Leah, Miami, Spring 1970. This slogan appears on one of the

small Day-Glow placards I created to illustrate The New Indians, a
research paper I wrote on Native Americans for my eleventh-grade
history class, one of the few classes I found interesting that year. (I also
liked my English class, although no traces of my work have survived.)
My history teacher, an enthusiastic young woman who had just
graduated from college, challenged us to think critically, ask probing
questions, and have fun with our assignments. She got me hooked on
history, an interest that Gus reinforced when I met him a year later.




Leah, The New Indians, Miami, Spring 1970. This is the

introduction to the research paper I wrote for my eleventh-grade history

Hunter, Natural Foods, 11.


Tom Wolfe, The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test (New York:

Bantam, 1968), 63.

Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot (New York: Grove P,

1954), 1011.

My friend Deborah wrote this inscription in The Prophet by

Kahil Gibran, a holiday gift that she gave me in December of 1969.

Lewis Carroll, Alices Adventures Under Ground [a facsimile

of the 1864 manuscript] (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1965), 90. My friend
Sophie gave me this book.

Thomas Mann, The Magic Mountain (New York: Knopf,

1953). When I read the novel as a high school senior, I envisioned alpine
retreats that engaged the mind and nurtured creative thought, a place
where I could become a writer and meet fascinating peoplea tall order
that not even the dream college I attended could satisfy. I feel better
prepared for creative awakenings now: years later Im sequestered once
more, but this time in the rural Midwest and not on a mountain top.

Hunter, Natural Foods, 69.


Leah, Illusions, Miami, Spring 1971. This excerpt is from

my response to the film, which the college intern Ive mentioned showed
to my twelfth-grade English class.

Hesse, Steppenwolf, 173.


Headlines from my newspaper clippings on the Viet Nam

moratorium, Miami Herald, October 16, 1969.




Beckett, Godot, 44.


Herman Hesse, Magister Ludi (The Glass Bead Game), trans.

Richard and Clara Winston (New York: Bantam, 1970), 107.

Russell and Russell, On the Loose.


Theodore Roszak, The Making of a Counter Culture (New

York: Anchor, 1969), xiii.

Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine (New York: Doubleday,

1957), 910. My friend Alan inscribed this passage in the copy he gave
Hesse, Demian, 53.

Sartre, Nausea, 3.


Laing, Politics of Experience, 32.


Camus, Sisyphus, 48.




ow that Ive finished composing Vagabond Scribe (Leahs Backstory),

Id like to say something about the methodology I used. Im as
curious as I suppose my readers are to determine how this unconventional
approach evolved, for I had no idea in advance where I was heading, and
Im still unsure how the process works. I do know that one thing led to
another, and before long I had assembled an elaborate paper trail
corresponding to the first twenty-five years or so of a womans life. In this
way, Leah, the protagonist of my story, acquired a personal history along
with a unique memory bank. To explain these developments, I could
discuss cultural influences, such as postmodernism and video art, or refer to
a range of thinkers, writers, and artists who have made lasting impressions,
but Id rather discuss the multimedia experiments that set the stage for A
Childs Space, the first act.
My tale began when I was a graduate student at the University of Iowa
in the mid-1980s. I had just learned work processing and was eager to
discover what else a personal computer could do. I met some multimedia
artists who introduced me to the wonders of computer graphics, and I got
With a black-and-white Macintosh computer and Superpaint software,
I explored new creative territory, yet my training as a writer and longtime
diarist proved harder to shake than I had expected. Instead of becoming an
artist overnight, as I secretly had hoped, I designed projects that
inadvertently reaffirmed my attachment to the written word. My childhood


diaries from the mid-1960s, which I had been rereading, provided the
inspiration and source materials for these initial forays into the digital realm.
Operating intuitively, without any artistic precedents in mind, I
transformed the young girls writing in unexpected ways. During the first
phase, I used the Superpaint software to rework selected diary passages, a
process that resulted in a series of black-and-white drawings called Give-AShow-Projector.
Meanwhile, I had added video to my repertoire, reviving my interest in
its creative potential. For the next phase, then, I adapted the series of
computer drawings Id made to a video format, hoping to further transform
my childhood diaries while also introducing another layer of media to the
open-ended compositions. Because I had access only to basic analog
cameras and editing facilities, I improvised more than I might have if I had
been working in a state-of-the-art studio. I also focused more on concept
than on technological prowess. I saw as my audience enthusiasts of
innovative work across a range of media and genres.
After much trial and error, I produced the video Fifth-Grade School
Sing. To achieve the desired effect, I mounted hard copies of each drawing
on a television screen during a live broadcast, and then I videotaped the
intermedia convergences that unpredictably ensued. At the same time, I
used my remote control to channel surf, and thus change the patterns of
light, color, movement, and sound from the televisual background that
faintly peered through. I treated each drawing separately and relied on
chance to determine what emanated from the background.
Viewers see a modified TV that doubles as a frame of reference. In
this context, my fifth-grade diary, transposed into a series of computer
graphics, interfaces with live televisual broadcasts on a customized video
screen, an event that I documented from behind the lens of a portable
video camera set up in my living room. Like the young girl who wrote in
her diary long ago, I also found comfort in a private space beyond the
spotlight, a matter of geography as well as of the mind: somehow I
recreated the childs space, and I felt at home. (For the young girl, writing
was one refuge; watching television was another. Often, she did both at the
same time.)
It seems fitting, given these dynamics, that during my transitions from
one creative medium to another I drew on my childhood diary for guidance
and support, since it preserved traces of that early scene of writing and the
magic I had felt there. Looking back, Id say I recaptured a little of that



magic; it provided the impetus to keep going, to trust my intuition, and to

indulge my curiosity. Most of all, it recharged my imagination.
Fifth-Grade School Sing remains a work-in-progress that, among other
things, documents staged performances in my living room on several
different occasions. After accumulating many hours of footage, I retreated
to the editing room to figure out what to do with this material. There I
began an instructive laboratory exercise that allowed me to experiment with
the drawings as well as with voice, sound, and character-generated text. I
spent a lot of time trying to assemble my footage in a satisfying way. When
I reached an impasse, I made still prints of selected shots.
The dreamlike color photographs represent another transmutation of
the early diary writing. These photographs bear little resemblance to the
black-and-white computer drawings from which they originated, though
traces of the diary writing can be discerned. In this respect, the color images
resemble a palimpsest.
I enjoyed making all these artifacts and working with different media,
yet after a while I realized I was searching for something else, something
elusive I couldnt defineand there were no maps to help me navigate
through the space I had entered. Inexplicably compelled to proceed, despite
feeling lost, I moved ahead with the project, which seemed to acquire a life
and momentum of its own. In retrospect, I suspect that I wasnt as alone as
I thought, for I believe unconscious forces were at play, offering subtle
hints and providing clues.
During a particularly frustrating phase, I found myself returning to the
original diary writing to work through an idea that had come to me while
editing my video. Back at my computer, I typed passages from the diary and
cut up the printed copies into hundreds of little pieces that I then collaged
together and taped onto sheets of paper and large poster boards, sort of like
assembling video footage or editing a film. Next, I retyped the diary
passages according to the collaged layouts. After finishing with my fifthgrade diary from 1964, which chronicled everyday life in Miami, I repeated
the procedure for my diary from 1965.
These collages morphed into another transformation of the young
girls writing, A Childs Space, and Leah, a fictional character, emerged.
Blending fact and fiction, I developed the technique further with other
archival materials related to her coming of age in South Florida: Elusive
Lifelines represents her high school years, and Vagabond Scribe focuses
on her return to Miami after college.



Vagabond Scribe, the book, brings together these individual collages

both to represent Leah at different stages of her life and to explore the
storytelling potential of personal memory banks, which, Ive discovered, can
provide valuable source materials for literary projects as well as for work
across a range of old and new media.
Video-Graphic Alchemy, for example, also experiments with image and
text. Designed for the printed page and the computer screen, the intermedia
collage combines color video stills from Fifth-Grade School Sing with passages
from Elusive Lifelines and Vagabond Scribe. In this rendition, the
childs diary writing evokes not only its distant past but also its recent
transformations and the conditions under which they occurred. As VideoGraphic Alchemy suggests, the transformations continue. Instead of
establishing closure, this multilayered supplement to Vagabond Scribe paves
the way for future acts.
My excursions into new creative territory have served me well. Ive
learned that when I reach an impasse with one medium, I can always turn
to another medium or even create hybrids of my own. This approach
stimulates my imagination and opens me to unconscious stirrings that I
might otherwise miss. By working through privately written texts in new
spatial, temporal, and discursive contexts, I continue to expand my
repertoire and rechannel memories. Intermedia convergences play into the
stage-by-stage construction of my stories.


Miami Beach

(Act One, Act Two, and Act Three)
Allen, Woody. Annie Hall. United Artists/MGM, 1977.
Anon. Partial film review of Alices Restaurant, c. 1969.
Atwood, Margaret. Surfacing. New York: Popular Library, 1976.
Barreno, Maria Isabel, Maria Teresa Horta, and Maria Velho da Costa.
The Three Marias: New Portuguese Letters. Translated by Helen R.
Lane. New York: Bantam, 1976.
Barrett, William. Irrational Man: A Study in Existential Philosophy.
New York: Doubleday, 1962.
Bashkirtseff, Marie. Quoted in Moffat and Painter, 14. See also 4655.
Beckett, Samuel. Waiting for Godot. New York: Grove P, 1954.
Borges, Jorge Luis. The Aleph and Other Stories. New York: Dutton,
. The Library of Babel. Translated by Anthony Kerrigan.
In Ficciones. New York: Grove P, 1962.
. Tln, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius, Translated by Alastair Reid.
In Ficciones.
Bradbury, Ray. Dandelion Wine. New York: Doubleday, 1957.
Brautigan, Richard. In Watermelon Sugar. New York: Dell, 1968.
Brecht, Bertolt. Caucasian Chalk Circle. Adapted by Eric Bentley.
In Reinert, 754835.


Calvino, Italo. Invisible Cities. Translated by William Weaver.

New York: Harcourt Brace, 1974.
Camus, Albert. The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays. Translated by
Justin O'Brien. New York: Vintage, 1955.
. The Stranger. Translated by Stuart Gilbert. New York: Vintage,
Carroll, Lewis. Alices Adventures Under Ground [facsimile of the
1864 manuscript]. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1965.
Castenada, Carlos. Tales of Power. New York: Simon Schuster, 1974.
Chediak, Nat. Program notes. The Cinematheque, Coral Gables,
Florida. Fall-Winter, 197677, Third Anniversary edition.
Colette, The Vagabond. Translated by Enid McLeod. New York: Farrrar,
Strauss, & Giroux, 1955.
College Catalogue. New England, 1970.
Cortazar, Julio. Hopscotch. Translated by Gregory Rabassa. New York:
Avon, 1966.
cummings, e. e. 100 Selected Poems. New York: Grove P, 1959.
Davis, Stephen. Roots of Reggae. New Age Journal. October 7,
1976, 1827.
de Saint-Exupry, Antoine. The Little Prince. Translated by Katherine
Woods. New York: Harcourt Brace, 1971.
Dostoyevsky, Fyodor. Crime and Punishment. New York: The
Literary Guild of America, 1953.
. Letters from the Underworld. Translated by C. J. Hogarth. New
York: Dutton, 1957.
Drinnon, Richard. Rebel in Paradise: A Biography of Emma Goldman.
New York: Harper and Row, 1976.
Duras, Marguerite. Hiroshima Mon Amour [screenplay]. New York:
Grove Press, 1961.
Durrell, Lawrence. Balthazar. London: Faber and Faber, 1963.
. Clea. New York: Giant Cardinal, 1961.
. Justine. New York: Pocket Books, 1969.
The Effects of Memory on Perception. Anonymous article, c. 1975.



Ehrmann, Max. Desiderata [poem]. 1927. Printed on pamphlet

published by the Theosophical Society, c. 1969.
Exam question from a literature class, c. 1976.
Fallaci, Oriani. Letter to A Child Never Born. Translated by John
Shepley. New York: Anchor, 1978.
Faulkner, William. The Sound and the Fury. New York: Random
House, 1956.
Florida Mobilization Committee to End the War in Vietnam (FMC),
Miami chapter. Flyer re: October 15, 1969, Moratorium on
Business as Usual.
Friends, classmates, and some teachers. Inscriptions in Leahs eleventh
and twelfth-grade yearbooks, Miami, 197071.
Gerstenberg, Alice. Overtones. In Sullivan and Hatch, 118.
Gibran, Kahil. The Prophet. New York: A. A. Knopf, 1923.
Ginsberg, Allen. Howl and Other Poems. San Francisco: City Lights,
Godwin, Gail. The Odd Woman. New York: Knoph, 1974.
Gold, Edith Gold. Mary Cassatt: A Brilliant Portrait. The Miami
Herald. September 5, 1975. [Gold reviews the book Mary Cassatt: A
Biography of the Great American Painter, by Nancy Hale.]
Goldman, Emma. Quoted in Drinnon, Rebel in Paradise.
Grass, Gnter. The Tin Drum. Translated by Ralph Manheim. New York:
Vintage, 1964.
Green Tiger Press. Catalogue. La Jolla, California, c. 1970.
Guidelines for Equal Treatment of the Sexes in McGraw-Hill Book
Company Publications. New York: McGraw Hill, 1970.
Hedgepeth, William, and Dennis Stock. The Alternative: Communal Life
in New America. New York: Macmillan, 1970.
Heinlein, Robert A. Stranger in a Strange Land. New York: Berkley
Medallion Books, 1968.
Hellman, Lillian. Pentimento: A Book of Portraits. New York: Signet,
. Quoted in Rex Reed. Hellman at 69: Still Tough, A Bit Bitter.
The Miami Herald. November 9, 1975.



. Scoundrel Time. New York: Bantam, 1977.

Hesse, Herman. Demian: The Story of Emil Sinclairs Youth. Translated
by Michael Roloff and Michael Lebeck. New York: Harper and
Row, 1965.
. Magister Ludi (The Glass Bead Game). Translated by Richard
And Clara Winston. New York: Bantam, 1970.
. Siddhartha. Translated by Hilda Rosner. New York: New
Directions, 1951.
. Steppenwolf. Translated by Basil Creighton. New York: Holt,
Rinehart, 1969.
Hoffman, Abbie. Revolution for the Hell of It. New York: Dial P, 1970.
Hubbard, Barbara Marx. New Values for the Future. Renaissance
Universal Journal. 1.4 (Fall 1976): 2636.
Hunter, Beatrice Trum. The Natural Foods Cookbook. New York:
Pyramid, 1969.
Ionesco, Eugne. The Bald Soprano. In Four Plays. Translated by
Donald M. Allen. New York: Grove P, 1958.
Ippolito, Donna. Erotica. This poem was printed on a flyer distributed
at a Harvard book fair, 1976.
Joyce, James. Quoted in Russell and Russell, front cover.
Kafka, Franz. The Metamorphosis. Translated by Willa and Edwin
Muir. In The Penal Colony: Stories and Short Pieces. New York:
Schocken, 1965.
Kesey, Ken. One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest. New York: Signet, 1962.
Kriegel, Harriet, ed. Women in Drama: An Anthology. New York:
New American Library, 1975.
La Farge, Peter. Drums. Peter La Farge on the Warpath. Folkway
Records, Hopi Music Publishing, 1965.
Laing, R. D. The Divided Self: An Existential Study in Sanity and
Madness. Middlesex, England: Penguin, 1969.
. Knots. New York, Pantheon, 1970.
. The Politics of Experience. New York: Pantheon, 1967.
Lapp, Frances Moore, and Joseph Collins.. Food First! Renaissance
Universal Journal 1.4 (Fall 1976): 38.



Leah, Candlelight Reception. Miami, 1977. Unpublished screenplay.

. Carousel Memories. Miami, Spring 1971. Personal writing.
. Confrontations. Miami, Spring 1971. High school essay.
. Custer Had It Coming. Miami, Spring 1970. High school
. Diaries. Miami, 196465.
. Estranged Souls. Miami, Fall 1969. Personal writing.
. Illusions. Miami, Spring 1971. High school essay.
. The Moon. Miami, Fall 1970. Personal writing.
. The New Indians. Miami, Spring 1970. High school research
. Personal writing and creative notes. Miami, c. 197580.
Assorted texts.
. A Ping-Pong Manual, or the Love Life of a Kazoo. Miami,
Spring 1971. High school class exercise.
. Raskolnikovs Visions. Miami, Fall 1970. High school essay.
. Tryst. Miami, 1977. Unpublished short story.
Lessing, Doris. The Four-Gated City. New York: Bantam, 1970.
. The Golden Notebook. New York: Bantam, 1973.
. Play With A Tiger. In Sullivan and Hatch, 20173.
Little Miss Muffet Fight Back. New York: Feminists on Childrens
Media, 1974.
Mahoney, Lawrence. UM Students Start M-Day Early by Reading List
of War Dead. Miami Herald. Oct. 16, 1969.
Mann, Thomas. Magic Mountain. New York: Knopf, 1953.
Marquez, Gabriel Garcia. One Hundred Years of Solitude. Translated by
Gregory Rabassa. New York: Avon, 1971.
McCullers, Carson. The Member of the Wedding. New York: Bantam,
McLeester, Dick. Welcome to the Magic Theater: A Handbook for
Exploring Dreams. Amherst: Food for Thought Publications, 1976.
McLuhan, Marshall, and Quentin Fiore. The Medium is the Massage:
An Inventory of Effects. New York: Bantam, 1967.



Merriam, Eve, ed. Growing Up Female in America: Ten Lives. Boston:

Beacon P, 1971.
Merriam, Eve, Paula Wagner, and Jack Hoffsiss. Out of Our Fathers
House. In The New Womens Theatre: Ten Plays by Contemporary
American Women. Edited by Honor Moore, 50537. New York:
Vintage, 1977.
Moffat, Mary Jane, and Charlotte Painter, eds. Revelations: Diaries of
Women. New York: Vintage, 1975.
Moody Blues. To Our Childrens Childrens Children. Polydor
Records, 1970
Nestor. Letter to Leah, 1977.
Nin, Anas. Cities of the Interior. Chicago: Swallow P, 1975.
. Collages. Chicago: Swallow P, 1964.
. The Diary of Anas Nin, Volume Three, 19391944. Edited by
Gunther Stuhlmann. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1969.
. The Diary of Anas Nin, Volume Five, 19471955. Edited by
Gunther Stuhlmann. NewYork: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1974.
. The Diary of Anas Nin, Volume Six, 19551966. Edited by
Gunther Stuhlmann. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1976.
. In Favor of the Sensitive Man and Other Essays. New York:
Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, 1976.
. Under A Glass Bell and Other Stories. Chicago: Swallow P,
Olsen, Tillie. Tell Me A Riddle. New York: Dell, 1961.
Pirandello, Luigi. Six Characters in Search of An Author. Translated by
Edward Storer. In Reinert, 70253.
Protests Continue Into Night With Candlelight Service at U. of Miami
[photo caption]. Miami Herald. Oct. 16, 1969.
Proust, Marcel. Swanns Way. Translated by C. K. Scott Moncrieff.
New York: Vintage, 1970.
. Within A Budding Grove. Translated by C. K. Scott Moncrieff.
New York: Vintage, 1970.
Pynchon, Thomas. Gravitys Rainbow. New York: Bantam, 1973.



Reinert, Otto, ed. Drama: An Introductory Anthology. Boston: Little,

Brown, 1964.
Robbe-Grillet, Alain. Last Year at Marienbad [screenplay]. Translated
by Richard Howard. New York: Grove P, 1962.
Roszak, Theodore. The Making of a Counter Culture: Reflections on the
Technocratic Society and Its Youthful Opposition. New York:
Anchor, 1969.
Russell, Jerry, and Renny Russell. On the Loose. San Francisco: Sierra
Club/Ballantine, 1967.
Sartre, Jean-Paul. Nausea. Translated by Lloyd Alexander. New York:
New Directions, 1964.
Snyder, Gary. Earth House Hold, New York: New Directions, 1969.
Stearn, Jess. Yoga, Youth, and Reincarnation. New York: Bantam, 1965.
Stern, Elizabeth Gertrude [pseud. Leah Morton]. I Am a WomanAnd
A Jew. Excerpt in Merriam, 20123. [Selections also in Out
of Our Fathers House, the play by Merriam, Wagner, and Hoffsiss.]
Strindberg, August. A Dream Play. Translated by Walter Johnson. New
York: Norton, 1975.
. Miss Julie. Translated by C. D. Locock. In Kriegel, 23975.
Strong-Campbell Vocational Interest Inventory Test, 1975.
Sullivan, Victoria, and James Hatch, eds. Plays By and About Women.
New York: Vintage Books, 1974.
Terry, Megan. Approaching Simone. In Kriegel, 357408.
. Calm Down Mother: A Transformation for Three Women.
In Sullivan and Hatch, 27593.
Thousands Stage Rallies Debating Morality of War. Miami Herald.
Oct. 16, 1969.
Troy. Letters to Leah, c. 1976.
Van Itallie, Jean-Claude. America Hurrah [play]. New York: Pocket
Vonnegut, Kurt, Jr. Cats Cradle. New York: Delta, 1963.
Watts, Alan. Psychotherapy East & West. New York: Ballantine, 1969.
. This Is It and Other Essays on Zen and Spiritual Experience.
New York: Collier, 1968.



Why I Protest: A Student; An Enlistee; A Grandmother. Miami

Herald. Oct. 16, 1969.
Wolfe, Tom. The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. New York: Bantam, 1968.
Wolfe Tom, and E. W. Johnson, eds. The New Journalism. New York:
Harper and Row, 1973.
Woolf, Virginia. Diary excerpts in Moffat and Painter, 22536.
. A Room of Ones Own. New York: Harcourt Brace, 1957.
. The Waves. In Jacobs Room and the Waves: Two Complete
Novels. New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1959.
. A Writers Diary. Edited by Leonard Woolf. New York:
Harvest, 1954.
Wright, Richard. Black Boy: A Record of Childhood and Youth. New
York: Harper and Row, 1966.
Young, Marguerite. Miss MacIntosh, My Darling. New York: Harcourt
Brace, 1965.
Young, Neil. Birds. After the Gold Rush. Reprise Records, 1970.



Elayne Zalis, PhD, has an interdisciplinary background
in writing, communications, and the media arts. She
explores media in transition, a range that encompasses
film, video, print, digital arts, and the web. She is
interested in what artists and writers are doing and in
what critics and scholars are saying. Her recent work
focuses on personal and cultural memory. She lives in
Southern California.
Vagabond Scribe (Leahs Backstory), a literary
experiment, paved the way for the novel Arellas
Repertoire, in which Leah reappears fifteen years later.
These texts form part of a quartet that also includes
two works of nonfiction, Video-Graphic Alchemy:
Transforming Dear Diary and VirtualDayz: Remediated
Visions & Digital Memories. For additional background,