Free will, yes and no. Only the mind is free.

I've always been attracted to minds, seduction always begins in the mind.

Free will buhi, always.

“There are as many sorts of women as there are women.”
― Murasaki Shikibu, The Tale of Genji

Much of “The Tale of Genji,” the eleventh-century Japanese masterpiece often called the world’s first novel, is about the art of seduction. Not that any sexual act is ever mentioned; very little in Murasaki Shikibu’s prose is plainly stated. Things are suggested, alluded to, often nebulously. What counts in the seduction scenes is the art, the poetry. Quite literally so: the proper approach to a desired lady was through poems, written on scented paper of the finest quality, delivered by an elegantly dressed go-between of appropriate social rank. More poems would be exchanged as soon as the approach bore fruit. A “morning after” poem was an essential part of etiquette.

One reason that physical contact between men and women is hardly ever described in “Genji” is that courtly lovers almost never saw one another clearly, and certainly not naked; full nudity is rare even in traditional Japanese erotic art. Women of the upper class sat hidden in murky rooms, behind curtains, screens, and sliding doors. For a respectable woman to be seen in daylight, especially standing up, instead of reclining in an interior, under many layers of clothing, would have been provocative beyond belief. Women were shielded by curtains even when they spoke to male members of their own family. A male suitor could be driven wild by the sight of a woman’s sleeve spilling out from underneath a shade, or by the mere sound of silk rustling behind a lacquer screen.

www.newyorker.com/magazine/2015/07/20/the-sensualist-books-buruma

Genet's works[edit]
Novels and autobiography[edit]
Throughout his five early novels, Genet works to subvert the traditional set of moral values of his assumed readership. He celebrates a beauty in evil, emphasizes his singularity, raises violent criminals to icons, and enjoys the specificity of gay gesture and coding and the depiction of scenes of betrayal. Our Lady of the Flowers (Notre Dame des Fleurs 1943) is a journey through the prison underworld, featuring a fictionalized alter-ego by the name of Divine, usually referred to in the feminine, at the center of a circle of tantes ("aunties" or "queens") with colorful sobriquets such as Mimosa I, Mimosa II, First Communion and the Queen of Rumania. The two auto-fictional novels, The Miracle of the Rose (Miracle de la rose 1946) and The Thief's Journal (Journal du voleur 1949), describe Genet's time in Mettray Penal Colony and his experiences as a vagabond and prostitute across Europe. Querelle de Brest (1947) is set in the midst of the port town of Brest, where sailors and the sea are associated with murder; and Funeral Rites (1949) is a story of love and betrayal across political divides, written this time for the narrator's lover, Jean Decarnin, killed by the Germans in WWII.

Prisoner of Love, published in 1986, after Genet's death, is a memoir of his encounters with Palestinian fighters and Black Panthers; it has, therefore, a more documentary tone than his fiction.

rgs

Anyway, to paraphrase the late great Bob Calvert.

She is like a radio I cant switch off
There is no way to get peace of mind
I would like to live inside a lead lined room
And leave all her effin nagging behind

Free will has its downside as Genet explained and Sartre his mentor and dare I say saviour.
Free will does indeed mean freedom to do anything and true free will is to murder another. That is the extreme, but one that any humanist has to consider.
Much too deep for glib two or three words to explain a very profound , essential, philosophical concept.
Nice dinner club conversation, try it as Genet did in a prison.
Existentialism does indeed state free choice, responsibility for ones actions. The causal factors of those actions are not of free choice.

Musical interlude:







"Simple Twist Of Fate"

They sat together in the park
As the evening sky grew dark
She looked at him and he felt a spark tingle to his bones
It was then he felt alone and wished that he'd gone straight
And watched out for a simple twist of fate.

They walked alone by the old canal
A little confused I remember well
And stopped into a strange hotel with a neon burning bright
He felt the heat of the night hit him like a freight train
Moving with a simple twist of fate.

A saxophone someplace far off played
As she was walking on by the arcade
As the light bust through a-beat-up shade where he was waking up
She dropped a coin into the cup of a blind man at the gate
And forgot about a simple twist of fate.

He woke up the room was bare
He didn't see her anywhere
He told himself he didn't care pushed the window open wide
Felt an emptiness inside to which he just could not relate
Brought on by a simple twist of fate.

He hears the ticking of the clocks
And walks along with a parrot that talks
Hunts her down by the waterfront docks where the sailers all come in
Maybe she'll pick him out again how long must he wait
One more time for a simple twist of fate.

People tell me it's a sin
To know and feel too much within
I still believe she was my twin but I lost the ring
She was born in spring but I was born too late
Blame it on a simple twist of fate.