You can simply scroll down the page to read entries to The Emotional Journal, starting with the most recent. You can find specific entries under "Recent Journal Entries" on the right side of the screen. Entries are also grouped by "label" just below "Recent Journal Entries." Be sure to leave a comment about The Emotional Journal. Various characters will post several entries. Catch a glimpse into their thoughts and lives, and follow them through new experiences.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Torry Logan does not stand a chance against me. He never has. I beat him when we were kids. I beat him when we were amateurs. I beat him in the Olympic trials. I'm sure he knows that I will beat him again. But still, he demands to fight me. What a fool.
I'm in the best shape of my life. My body has never been more chiseled. I look like a sculpted piece of stone. My abs are rock hard. It's like I'm wearing a molded plate of armor.
My feet have never been quicker. I'm like lightning whether I step in or out. Yesterday when I was leaving the gym after I broke training, I amazed some little girls down the block who were turning double-dutch. No matter how fast they turned, the rope never touched me.
My hands are putting on a display of speed and power that is almost never-before-seen. When I'm punching the speed bag everybody in the gym just stops and stares. The sound is so rhythmic. It reminds you of a drummer in a military marching band. The cadence is perfect.
I almost lost another sparring partner today because I hit too hard. The only way my manager could talk him into staying was if I wore gloves with extra padding. It's like I'm a cyborg with metal underneath my skin. But still, Torry Logan demands to fight me.
My ring vision is unbelievable. I see punches coming even before they are thrown. And with my cat-like reflexes, a boxer throws his best combination at me and hits nothing but air. It's like I'm Neo in the matrix.
By chin is like iron. In the rare occasion that a punch lands, even right on the button, it doesn't even register on the scale. Send as much ammunition as you can, but my chin is bulletproof. It's like I'm wearing a Kevlar chinstrap. But still, Torry Logan demands to fight me.
But I know why. He knows this is the only fight that can bring him the kind of exposure that he has been after for his entire career. He knows this is the only fight that can silence his critics who have for years accused him of avoiding me. He knows this is the only fight that can bring him the kind of payday he's been dreaming about. Shyt, after this fight, he'll damn near have enough to retire on. In fact, I'm going to hit him so hard, that is exactly what he'll want to do. Retire.
-- desmond h.
Monday, April 23, 2007
The job is confirmed. The wire transfer of $250,000 to the dummy account is complete. I'll get the other half in cash when I deliver Sal Tivoli's left hand to the one who hired me. That person shall remain nameless, even in my own journal.
According to the one who hired me, "Big Sal" will be in Washington, DC, for a relaxing week at the outstanding Mandarin Oriental Hotel. No doubt, in one its finest suites. My contact cannot give me an exact room, or exact date. But, frankly, if that was necessary, I wouldn't be worth every penny of what I'm being paid.
The final details of Tivoli's trip probably won't be worked out until the very last minute for security purposes. But when they are, I'll be eavesdropping. Not on Tivoli himself, but on the FBI. They've already put the wire taps and video and Internet surveillance in place. All I have to do is scan and monitor their transmissions.
The fun part part will be making Sal disappear while agents follow him in DC. I love doing that to the bureau. It'll be my third time. The first was when I made Joe Vincinso vanish from that restaurant in Philadelphia. And then there was the time the agents lost sight of Tony Delgado's Mercedes during that mob funeral in Jersey. Time and again, I use their own tactics and procedures against them.
But it's what they deserve. They are no better than the crooks who they claim to be after. There is no justice in protecting gangsters in exchange for their testimony against other gangsters. Instead of ridding the world of this scum, they give them new lives and identities. To continue to be a part such a thing is the very face of hypocrisy.
It serves more benefit to my psyche that I end the lives of menaces to society like Sal Tivoli. Men who kill for reputation, respect, and amusement. I do more good than harm when men like this cease to exist. And I do even more good than harm when I see to it that people like the one who hired me meet the same fate.
-- john s.
Friday, April 6, 2007
sometimes you sound so damn cute
like the way you say my name
sometimes when you wear that gray sweatsuit
you set my loins aflame
sometimes you make me hard
just from the way you're laying
sometimes i wanna fukk you
just because of how your hips are swaying
sometimes just seeing you when i get home
makes my day ok
sometimes i'm so hot for you
i wanna get in it with no foreplay
sometimes you can make me horny
just by walking across the room
sometimes your sex is so damn good
it makes me cum too soon
sometimes i get erect at work
just from thinking of you
sometimes when you're on top you get in a zone
and i don't know what to do
sometimes i just have to thug you out
smacking your ass and pulling your hair
sometimes i sleep fine with no sex at all
just knowing that you are there
Sunday, April 1, 2007
be sure to check out journal entry
sharon g. (part 1)
I'm a big basket of emotions right now! As a matter of fact, you can add fear and embarrassment to the mix. I know I'm not getting any sleep tonight. Not after what happened.
Ok, so picking up where I left off last time, he rings the doorbell. I'm all nervous, but trying to be sexy at the same time. I go to the door, but I realise I'm about to open it wearing a black lace teddy and high heels. I think to myself, "Hold on girl, this ain't the fuckin' Bunny Ranch." I'm not trying make him think he's gonna just walk into some pussy, you know? So, I run start running to my bedroom to get my bathrobe out of the closet.
Bad move. The heel breaks on my left shoe, and I lose my balance. As I'm falling, I push one of the end tables out of my way so that I don't fall into it, but I'll fall into the couch instead. Bad move. One of the vases my mother gave to me crashes to the floor. She is going to whoop my ass.
Anyway, I get my robe, put it on, and throw my heels into the closet. I'm thinking it might be better to just wear no shoes since I gotta hurry up and run to the door. Bad move. Remember the vase that broke? I slip on a big piece of it as get into the living room. Good thing it was ceramic, or else it might've cut me. But I did hurt my wrist breaking my fall.
So, at this point, I'm thinking maybe I should stop running through this place. I take a deep breath and I open the door. I'm trying to smile, even though I'm thinking, 'I know he just heard all that damn noise.' Sean has this smirk on his face like what the hell was going on in there! But he doesn't say anything stupid. Instead, he gives me a big hug and whispers in my ear, "You need me to help you clean up whatever you broke in there?"
I accepted his offer and let him in after I was done enjoying his warm embrace. He made me laugh to try and lighten the moment as we cleaned up the broken vase, found the heel of my shoe, and put the end table back where it belonged. Before you know it we were having a great time talking and drinking the champagne as we sat together on the couch. Ok, we didn't just sit on the couch. We were kind of all over each other on the couch.
Pretty soon we ended up in my bedroom. I guess you could say everything was going well. At least for him it was. I mean, I can't say I was putting up very much resistance. Ok, maybe no resistance. Sean is scorching hot, after all. When he took his shirt off, I kind of, melted like this morning's breakfast butter. That must've been part of his game plan, because every time my eyes found his chest and his sculped abs, they'd just roll up in my head again. But then he decided he wanted to flip me over and hit it from the back. Bad move.
As soon as I got on my hands and knees, my wrist burst into flames. Well, not literally. But this was the same wrist I hurt earlier when I broke my fall while slipping on the broken vase. I guess putting pressure on it reaggravated the injury. So instead of telling Sean I was in excruciating pain, I let him go ahead and get in me like Keith Murray. Bad move. Maybe I thought the pleasure of good sex would drown out the pain. It didn't. And after a few moments of pumping me like a piston, Sean discovered that the chassis had run out of lube.
Yeah. It was like metal grinding on metal in there. I was so embarrassed I couldn't lift my head to face him. He pulls out and tries to comfort me. He's all rubbing my back and asking "What's wrong?" and "Are you ok?" And there I am, still on all fours with my ass in the air and my face burried in my pillow ready to cry. Finally, he lays me on my side and spoons with me until I fall asleep. When I woke up this morning he was gone.
And I thought I was uncertain and nervous before! Now I'm going crazy wondering when or even if he's gonna call me today. Maybe I should call him and tell him what happened to me. Is he going to think I'm silly for not saying anything last night? Maybe he's going to think I'm an emotional wreck and decide I'm not worth the trouble. Maybe I... Oh shit... The phone's ringing.
-- sharon g.