Laral Pitch Circus

'Changing My Mind' is an apt subtitle to the Circus, as of February, 2014. 'I am not interested in bullshit' is another apt subtitle, as of late March, 2014.

Laral Pitch Circus is a postmodernist vagabond playground, the work of a vagabond who survives on talkativeness but actually prefers silence, that often of not so conceivable beauty; who has temporarily stayed in Appleton, Wisconsin for eighteen months and decided to linger for another nine months; who sleeps in books and archives and cogitates in dreams; who is about to become a supreme cook with expertise on peculiar food such as stinky tofu, beer bread, kvass cookies; who meditates in gardening and has WWOOFed in East and West of the country and could be found in SLUG garden on Friday afternoons from three to five; and who after all toils in reality still has some left-over energy to do some alternative history in the hyperreal world on what is currently known as Lawrence University, as of September, 2012.

Ask me something, Don's ask me anything, there Are stupid questions.  

One of those hippie theories.


Chewing gums and First Impression


I am now equating a bad email writer to a bad person and that is bad. 

I am but an agent broadcasting American Narrow-Mindedism

This is from an review for Great American City: Chicago And The Enduring Neighborhood Effect by Robert Sampson. 
1 of 3 people found the following review helpful
4.0 out of 5 stars
Format:Paperback|Verified Purchase
The second sentence in this book left me stunned, my mind spinning away on a path never envisaged by the author.

First sentence: “Imagine a world where distance has died, where globalization and high-tech wonders have rendered place irrelevant…” Second sentence: “From the North End of Boston to the North Beach of San Francisco, imagine cities where…”

Stop! Rewind! Does the world start and end with the shoreline of the USA?

If a serious academic has such a narrow-minded view of the world - supported by all those who edited, proofed, reviewed and wrote the Foreword for the book - is it any surprise that America is so out of touch with the rest of the world? Does not so many of America’s problems with other parts of the world stem from this parochial outlook? Shouldn’t all American education teach understanding of the world beyond the American shoreline?

I must get back to reading the book, which looks excellent.

Misogyny does not necessarily kill with guns

Saying misogyny kills is just a euphemism for gun kills. It is gun that kills.

Americans legally give their misogynists guns to kill and that’s barbaric. 

You saying your country only have two hundred years of history? Well I do not see how many years more your country needs to grow up. 

Of course misogyny kills, if you want to deploy figurative language. It kills physically, mentally, linguistically, and so on. But only with gun can misogyny kill in such irretrievable way. I still feel so very irritated when feminists do such violence to language. 

small notes on growing up and parenting

I used to think growing up means indifference, stability, efficiency, pragmatism, compassion, acceptance, compromise, responsibility, and all that jazz. 

Now I’d like to think differently.

Growing up is becoming your own parent, the annoying, self-righteous parent that coerces you into sleeping early at night and waking up early in the morning, into punctuality, into responsibility, into propriety, into respectability, into conformity, into dullness, in short, into Life, with all its glories and all its little troubles, and simultaneously the parent who is nice to you, gentle to you, patient with you, who respects you, listens to you, encourages you, treats you as a friend and an adult, with kind words, due respect, occasional indulgence, and above all, letting go. 

The point is, you get to choose to become your own best or worst parent in the world. 

small notes on friendship

our friendship has devolved into something like my relationship with my father: fighting within three sentences.  

what happened? 


but a train exists, where people talk to each other as if nothing matters, worldly matters do not matter, where people talk about how women feel betrayed by Nietzsche, or how people shit on your Facebook page, or how people get married too fucking early: and how all these, all those, quietly burn away your anxieties about the near future. 


Books that Intoxicate

Diaries of Susan Sontag

The Book of Disquiet /Fernando Pessoa

Getting ready to graduate

This will be an ongoing post for thoughts on about-to-finish-college. 

(I like that “graduate” has double meanings I had not intended, graduate from undergraduate, and graduate school.)

In London: 

I want to be an artist, a poet, a something, why the hell I am still in college?!

On the way back:

I do dislike people in their early twenties so much and like those in their late twenties so much. 

I want to become a person that you will trust me with your narration. 

For now, I want to have wrinkles and gray hair. 

These four years of rapidly changing my mind: also rapidly changing my book collection. By the end of each academic year, I have to move out, and then, move in somewhere. The first year, my book shelf was dominated by Freshmen Studies, Second year, European History anthologies, Third year, Michel Foucault, graphic novels, French textbooks, cookbooks, Forth, literature of modern period, of Second World War Lit., of Toni Morrison, of Theory, of Derrida, of contemporary lit. 

I regret that

some adorable people have challenged me to follow the rules, instead of challenging me to pursue my own voice, my own language. 

Lawrence is not for:

those who come from intellectual families, those who use big words and writes with sophistication and flair, those who take ideas seriously, those who are more or less attractive to University of Chicago, those who do not study for SAT but already scoring high, those who have taken college courses and already getting A minus and above, those who dare to be fiercely independent minded, those who really want to attend college rather than an upgraded version of high school, … 

Liberal arts versus Uni:

At Durham and in England, I encountered quite a few enthusiastic, intelligent people that, coming from a liberal arts institution, I think they will be better off in liberal arts colleges, they belong to liberal arts education: they should go to a liberal arts! In a big university, undergraduates are secondary citizens, commoners, third, or even forth, fifth-rate people, except the already exceptional few. In liberal arts, on the other hand, your enthusiasm will be celebrated (and of course, frustrated), you unsophistication tolerated, your (silly) ideas valued. Liberal arts is for those who, before anything else, want to change the world and/or know thyself (sometimes via examining the world one lives in). 

Two students missing and one died suddenly over Easter vocation: this is, after all, a big university, where death, metaphorical and actual, happens. 

On my senior dissertation:

As a reader I feel impressed by it, many parts of it give me enough reasons to be so very proud of myself. But as the writer, I know what it didn’t do, what it should have done, where it is unstable, what are truly its shortcomings. I felt strained, except in Epilogue, to write like an undergraduate, to explain things, that was the most annoying part. 

This will sound mad, I more or less feel its craziness, but these are two of my ideas of university.

in regarding to sex. each floor should have a room, something like a shabby hotel room, for people to have sex. it’s furnished with sex toys, condoms, and all that jazz. one must make a reservation to use it. and they have to clean up after themselves, change the shifts, etc. to set up the system while ensuring absolute anonymity shouldn’t be difficult. the benefits: privacy, safety, and potentially educational. and it should also have an emergency cord. 

in regarding of four years of college. it’s absolutely unhealthy to stay in college for four years. three years is better but not perfect. so it should be like this, after three years, you have all your general requirements, major requirements done, and you have a nominal degree, but you are not yet graduated from college. you can choose to go back to college after three years, or five, ten years, after sufficient experience of the real world, of adult life, that you finally know what are your main concerns, and what you need, and then you decide whether you really want to go back to college to finish the degree or not. some people may not need this final year, some may think they are well set up in life that a nominal degree is already good enough. those who go back will read classics on one hand, and set up their own reading list with consultation with supervisors on the other, another year of leisure to read difficult texts, think difficult issues. there are similar things out there like this forth year of college, such as master degree, reading clubs, and so on, but those are not exactly the same as undergraduate, with its focus, leisure, and innocence. 

I regret

the many failures of many instructors at Lawrence of not having directed me to the right books. 

About to live without YouTube

torn between the prospective bliss and misery. 

I hate bullshit is just a form of self-hatred. 

If I could start college all over again, I would be a self-designed major in “Language, Literature, and Thought”. 

Now it is really difficult for me to have genuine respect for those who have not had cross-cultural, international experience, which is not the same as having traveled, been abroad. A girl I know at Lawrence came back from her European study-abroad and complained, like, ‘well, you know, it’s Europe, not Africa’. Europe is too good for her to feel good about herself. Typical.  

To do list for life: keep a cat; study Italian and live in Italy; Argentina; live at the present;

I do not know if I had had thoughts like ‘I want his, her, its life…’, thoughts like that before. But now it’s difficult to hold those thoughts. I do not want to leave behind the life that I have witnessed, and, only I who has witnessed it all. All those changes of narratives, transformations of what have you. It has been a life interesting enough. 

If I can turn back the clock, I at least should have done three things, become proficient in German and French, that’s two, and, plan my trip much much earlier, when I was planing my Christmas vacation.