Finding Lost Humanity
Cartagena, Colombia | Ah, that familiar feeling. After having gone through three exciting, ready and willing women in one night, I feel that old, familiar feeling again – I’m alive inside. I guess I had a lot of pent up sexual thirst from my work sentence in Anglo America extracting the money I needed to leave again. What a contrast – leaving the cold, ineffectual, Faustian machine culture of Anglo America for a place with Old World sensuality, humanity, and charm.
After having endured some hard time inside world’s largest outdoor prison, i.e. Anglo America, it’s nice to return to a culture that is brimming with humanity. And a place that actually has true freedom and personal liberty. Latin America is perhaps the most human place on earth. Everything my soul has been missing in work obsessed, machine-worshipping, sex-shamed Puritanland found on my latest sojourn to a new continent.
Even eating in fine restaurants like Cuzco Cocina Peruana and Quebracho Parilla Argentina have made me realize just how much of the human touch we’ve lost back home. Rather than processed food that contains more marketing than flavor, I’ve enjoyed some of the best meals of my entire life here in Cartagena. What a difference the human touch makes.
As I sipped Cabernet and bit into a thick steak, I remember savoring and appreciating that moment so much, perhaps because I never really got to experience anything like it back home. My trip to Quebracho eclipsed any of the corporate feedbag “steakhouse” experiences I’ve had in the States.
Related: Rel on the Road Video Clip
I’ve enjoyed seeing the full flowering of humanity, with all its highs and lows, effetes and common people, poseurs at the top and real people at the bottom, rather than the neat and tidy, homogenized, Socialized, coerced dulling of our instincts and behavior so common in the matrix.
In the plaza by Torre de Reloj, nightly I watch high class folks (Castiza) share territory with prostitutes around the Pedro de Heredia statue. Families walk within feet of ladies of the night and neither bats an eye. Only a miniskirt and purse gives away the fact these are working girls in the plaza. This is something one would never witness in prudish Anglo America. A man is amazed a place like this even exists after having spent half a lifetime in the matrix, where sex is shamed and prostitution is the cultural equivalent of murder. Perhaps even more shamed than murder.
Each night, the clubs are full with people dancing and enjoying each other’s company rather than standing around, estranged, looking at each other. People are everywhere. You never know who you might run into. Characters abound.
I can walk around the plaza with a beer in hand without fear of reprisal by police. Recreational drugs are cheap and everywhere to be found. Women actually smile at me rather than grimacing at me like I’m a miscreant. I can talk to women and not be treated like malware by them. I can actually have a Realtalk conversation with the majority of people in the plaza rather than having to tiptoe around every word and every topic, being careful not to say the “wrong thing” as was so often the case in the world of the news media I grew to hate.
What a place. A place that lets people be. What a concept.
I’m becoming addicted to the risk that comes with traveling around the world, perhaps because it’s so rewarding. It’s exciting to step foot in a country or city I’ve never been in before, then adapt to its culture. The old addage “When in Rome, do as the Romans do” comes to mind. Rather than “When in Rome, make everyone do what Americans do.” The problem is, I realize how much Anglo culture has ripped me off.
How very few freedoms I actually have. How most of my decisions are made for me. How I almost sacrificed my whole life to the gods of consumption, materialism, celibacy, and loneliness until my awakening by writers pushing the envelope here in the new counterculture known as the manosphere.
If nothing else, trips like these will be something I look back upon fondly when I’m an old, decrepit man on his deathbed. At least I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing, that for once in my life I actually lived a little.
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