Feeble Will – Kevin Johnson Murillo

It’s been known to me for a very long time that the quickest way to a person’s heart is to allow them to explore your rectum, then colon. If they have enough time, they’ll eventually reach your heart and flood it with warmth. Which is why I never question this basic impulse, to put myself at the mercy of others. My own will is so feeble that it’s not worth taking into consideration anyhow. Sometimes it buzzes and suggests something such as ‘why don’t you walk over to the fig tree and pluck a fig for the evening?,’ but then, soon enough, I’ll question this voice. Why would I want a fig? Is there so little sugar flowing through my veins as to warrant this untimely delight? But then I’ll think of pleasure and clasp the fig between my forefinger and middle finger, not having plucked it as of yet, but simply contemplating it and wondering.
        No, things are so much simpler when you follow the wills of others. They are, after all, more than willing to direct the flows of your heart. To think is a luxury that can be afforded only by a precious few. But back to my bloodflow. There are road signs along the path to the Royal Palace leading in every which direction, most of which end in joyous, explosive, overflowing colonoscopies. For a feeble mind such as mine it can be difficult to discern which voices are worth following, which paths will end with the ripest fits of mirth and orgasm. Often, I prefer not to question any of them, but am simply pulled by such a sign with the most vibrant colors or the most appealing messages. One says: ‘Guaranteed to soothe your soul.’ Already I feel a deep attraction to this path and person laid out before me because it’s very often the case that my soul needs soothing. I see this sign and remember the last couple of times I was in need of respite, the stomach cramps, the heavy sweat, the lightning outside, and coiled body; horrid, horrid dreams, and I agree to go have it soothed, even if it’s not quite in need of soothing. Another sign promises wealth and good fortune, both of which I am also often in dire need of (or so I tell myself). At the end of this path I’m fisted violently and spasm. They don’t treat me nicely at all, but I have no say in the matter, I’ve come of my own volition, or so they say as they continue to abuse me. There’s no getting out of a faulty contract until the work is ended. No peace can be had until my new masters have had their fill. Then I’m sent back onto the road, to be enticed yet again by the numerous (there are always more and more of them) road signs pointing in every which direction. It never takes long for me to be dragged away.