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 A Cullenista edited Dylan's diary to make him seem more normal

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A Cullenista edited Dylan's diary to make him seem more normal Empty
PostSubject: A Cullenista edited Dylan's diary to make him seem more normal   A Cullenista edited Dylan's diary to make him seem more normal Icon_minitimeSat Sep 19, 2015 1:35 am

I don't know anything about this Cullenista, aside from the fact that s/he isn't American.


What follows is Dylan Klebold’s diary, rewritten to the best of my ability to be more easily understood. I found, when reading it for myself, that much of it was often at times virtually incoherent. But what I could understand often showed very deep, if warped, philosophical ponderings. The intent of this is not to change the content of Dylan’s writings in any way, only to correct the atrocious spelling, grammatical errors and sentence structure throughout. I must stress that since this will be to a degree my own interpretation of his writing what follows may not reflect Dylan’s true intention for what he wanted to be read from them, if he did indeed ever mean for them to be read. Since this is the case I urge the reader to also read Dylan’s original writings. The names used by Dylan in this account have been removed for legal reasons. Expressing emotions or perspectives through the use of drawings, diagrams, scribbles or doodles is not my speciality and so these will not be included in this account. I’m doing this because I believe that people should try to understand the people behind these killings. They were human beings too. People tend to ignore that there is always more to the story than just the victim’s tales in situations like these. And while Eric Harris was a true psychopath, Dylan was merely a depressed, lonely and angry young man, warped by Eric’s delusions of grandeur and misguided into killing by his friend. There is a very big difference between Eric and Dylan. Psychopathology is virtually a different breed of mental disorder to all the many others out there. This is not to say that Eric should not be understood also, because in the end he was also a misguided soul but with a psychological disorder that in many ways made him more monster than man. That is a much harder thing to understand, or even sympathise with. And we should sympathise, because both Dylan and Eric were also victims that day, and like those they killed they both ended up dead because of their actions. And now I shall let Dylan take centre stage. They both have their own stories to tell, just like all of us. This is Dylan’s.

2 Years, 20 Days before Columbine…

March 31st 1997

Ah yes, this is me writing… just writing. Nobody technically did anything, I just felt like throwing out my thoughts. This is a weird time, weird life, weird existence. As I sit here, partially drunk with a screwdriver, I think a lot. Think… think… that’s all my life is, just shitloads of thinking, all the time. My mind never stops. Music runs through it 24/7 except when I sleep, just songs I hear, not necessarily good or bad, and thinking. About the asshole [name removed] in Gym class, how he worries me, about driving, my family, my friends and doings with them, about girls I know (mainly [name removed] and [name removed]), how I know I can never have them. And yet I can still dream. I do shit to supposedly ‘cleanse’ myself in a spiritual, moral sort of way: deleting the ‘limits’ on my computer, not getting drunk for periods of time, trying not to ridicule or make fun of people at school, yet it does nothing to help my life morally. My existence is shit. I feel that I am in eternal suffering, in infinite directions, in infinite realities – yet these realities are fake, artificial, induced by thought, the way everything is connected and yet it is all so far apart, and I sit and think. Science is the way to find solutions to everything, right? I still think that and yet I see different views of shit now, like the mind. Yet if the mind is viewed scientifically… Hmm, I dwell in the past. Thinking of good and bad movies a lot. On the past though… I’ve always had a thing for the past; how it reacts with the present and the future – or rather vice versa. I wonder how and when I got so fucked up… my mind, my existence, my problems… when Dylan Benet Klebold got covered up by this entity containing Dylan’s body. I see the people at school – some good, some bad – and I see how different I am. Aren’t we all, you’ll say. And yet I am on such a greater scale of difference, as far as I know, or guess. I see jocks having fun, friends, women, lives. Or rather shallow existences compared to mine… maybe. Ignorance equals bliss and they don’t know this world, not how I do in my mind or in reality, or in this existence. Yet we are each lacking something that the other possesses – I lack the true human nature that they do and they lack the overdeveloped mind, imagination and knowledge that Dylan owns. (Dylan says this the other way round. I am not certain this is the way he intended to say it and so I wrote it this way. I may have interpreted this wrong.) As I sit here, thinking of suicide gives me hope. That I will be in my place wherever I go after this life. That I will finally not be at war with myself, the world, the universe – my mind, body, soul, everywhere, everything at peace. The routine is still monotonous; go to school, be scared and nervous, somewhat hoping that people can accept me, that I can accept them. ‘Piggy’ by Nine Inch Nails is good music for writing my thoughts to. The ‘Lost Highway’ sounds like a movie about me. I’m going to write later, bye. <<VoDkA>>

Lyrics to ‘Piggy’ by Nine Inch Nails (Not included in original account but included here for reference):

“Hey pig,
Yeah you,
Hey pig, piggy, pig, pig, pig,
All of my fears came true,
Black and blue and broken bones, you left me here, I’m all alone,
My little piggy needed something new.

Hey pig,
Nothing’s turning out the way I planned,
Hey pig there’s a lot of things I hoped you could help me understand,
What am I supposed to do?
I lost my shit because of you.

Nothing can stop me now,
Because I don’t care anymore,
Nothing can stop me now
Because I don’t care.”

2 Years, 5 Days before Columbine…

April 15th 1997

Well, well, back at it. Yes you say, whoever the fuck ‘you’ are, but yeah. (I’m guessing from this proclamation that at some point Dylan imagined somebody reading what he had written.) My life is still fucked, in case you care. Maybe… not? I have just lost fucking $45 and before that I lost my Zippo and knife although I did get those back. Why the fuck is he being such an asshole? God I guess, or whoever the being is who controls shit. He’s fucking me over big time and it pisses me off. Oh God I hate my life. I want to die really bad right now. Let’s see what I have that’s good: a nice family, a good house, food, a couple of good friends and possessions. What’s bad: no girls (friends or girlfriends), no other friends except a few, nobody accepting me even though I want to be accepted, doing badly and being intimidated in any and all sports, looking weird and acting shy (big problem), getting bad grades, having no ambition in life (that’s a big shit). Anyway, I was Mr. Cutter tonight. I have 11 depressions on my right hand now and my favourite contrasting symbol, because it is so true and means so much – the battle between good and bad never ends. (I am unsure of the meaning here. I am assuming he has self-harmed [Mr. Cutter being the reference used]. He uses the word ‘depressioners’ which I do not understand. I take it to mean depressions and has simply been misspelt. There is a sketch included of the symbol mentioned, a vertical line with two horizontal lines across it, labelled ‘cut’. I do not know this symbol, or what it means although I presume it must be something like the ying yang symbol from the wording used.) Okay, enough bitching… well, I’m not done quite yet. Okay, so, I don’t know what I do wrong with people, mainly women. It’s like they all set out to hate and ignore me. I never know what to say or do. [name removed] is so fucking lucky. He has no idea how I suffer. Okay, here’s some poetry. This is a tale of one man in search of answers, never finding them, and yet in hopelessness understanding things…

Existence… what a strange word. He, setting out with determination and curiosity, knows no existence, knows nothing relevant to himself. The petty destinations of others and everything on this world, in this world, he knows the answers to. Yet they have no purpose to him. He seeks knowledge of the unthinkable, of the indefinable, of the unknown. He explores ‘the everything’… using his mind, the most powerful tool known to him. No physical barrier blocking the limits of exploration, time through thought through dimensions. ‘The everything’ is his realm. Yet the more he thinks, hoping to find answers to his questions, the more come up. Amazingly the petty things mean much to him at this time. How he wants to be normal, not this transceiver of ‘the everything’. Then, occurring to him, the answer. How everything is connected yet separate. By experiencing the petty others actions, reactions, doings and thoughts he gets a mental picture of what, in his mind, is a cycle. Existence is a great hall, life is one of the rooms, death is passing through the doors and the ever-existent compulsion of everything is the curiosity to keep moving down the hall, through the doors, exploring rooms down this never-ending hall. Questions make answers, answers conceive questions, and at long last he is content. (I love this passage. There is incredible depth within it and it gives an amazing insight into how Dylan viewed his life.)

Talk to you later <<VoDkA>>

1 Year, 11 Months, 13 Days before Columbine…

May 7th 1997

Yo whassup… heehehehe. You know what’s weird? Everyone knows everyone. I swear, I’m an outcast and everyone is conspiring against me. Check it… this isn’t good, but I need to write, so here…

Within the known limits of time, within the conceived boundaries of space, the average human thinks these are the settings of existence. Yet the ponderer, the outcast, the believer, helps out the human. “Think not of two dimensions,” says the ponderer. “But of three, as your world is conceived of three dimensions, so is mine. While you explore the immediate physical boundaries of your body, you see in your three dimensions – length, width and height. Yet I, more mentally open to everything, see my three dimensions, my realm of thought – time, space and thought. Of them all, thought is the most powerful thing that exists – anything conceivable can be produced, anything and everything is possible, even in your physical world.” After this so-called ‘lecture’ the common man feels confused, empty and unaware. Yet those are the best emotions for a ponderer. The real difference is, a true ponderer will explore these emotions and what caused them.

Another… a dream.

Miles and miles of never-ending grass, like a wheat field. A farm, sunshine, a presence of happiness. Absolutely nothing wrong, nothing ever is, contrary 180° to normal life. No awareness, just a pure unexplainable bliss. The only challenges are no challenge, and then bam!! Realisation sets in, the world, life, is the greatest punishment.

Hypnosis place – it is a sky, with one large cloud, shaped like a chair. The sun is at the head of the chair, 10 o’clock in the sky. Below I sometimes see mist and the great green Earth. I see a city, yet I hear nothing. I relax on this chair, actually more like a chaise, and I am talking. To what? I don’t know, it is just there. I have the feeling that I know him, even though I consciously do not. And we talk like we are the same person, like he is my soul.

The everlasting contrast… Dark, Light, God, Lucifer, Heaven, Hell, Good, Bad. Yes, the everlasting contrast. For as long as existence has known, the ‘fight’ between good and evil has continued. Obviously, this fight can never end. Good things turn bad, bad things become good, the ‘people’ on this earth see it to be a battle they can win. Ha, fucking morons. If people looked back at history they would see what happens. I think too much, I understand, I am God compared to these barely existing, brainless zombies. And yet their actions interest me, like a kid with a new toy. Another contrast, more of a paradox actually: the advanced going for the undeveloped realm, while some of the morons become everything dwellers. But, there are exceptions to every rule, and this is a big exception… most morons never change. They never decide to live in the ‘everything’ frame of mind. Later <<VoDkA>>

1 Year, 8 Months, 28 Days before Columbine…

July 23rd 1997

It is not good for me right now, like it ever is, but anyway. My best friend ever, who I shared, experimented, laughed and took chances with, the person who appreciated me more than any friend ever did has been ordained, or ‘passed on’ in my book. Ever since [name removed], who I wouldn’t mind killing, has loved him that is the only place he has been, with her. If anyone had any idea how sad I am. I mean we were the team. When him and I first became friends, hell I finally found someone who was like me, who appreciated me and showed very common interests. Ever since 7th grade I’ve felt lonely but when [name removed] came into my life, I finally felt happiness, sometimes. We did everything for the first time together: cigars, drinking, sabotage to houses. And now that he’s ‘moved on’ I feel so lonely, without a friend. Oh well, maybe he’ll come around… I hope. That’s all for this topic. Maybe I’ll never see this again (arrow points to removed name).

(I assume he must be talking about Eric, although I see no reason why Eric’s name would be removed from the officially released documents considering he was the second killer. The arrow seems to point to another nickname like Dylan’s <<VoDkA>> signature. Eric shared this habit of using a signature, his being REB named after a character in the videogame Doom. Although Dylan may be referring to Zack Heckler who used the signature KiBBz, I am more inclined to believe he is talking about Eric.)

Date Unknown – Between July 23rd and September 5th 1997

Oh my God. I am almost sure I am in love with [name removed]. Hehehe… such a strange name, like mine, and yet everything about her I love. From her good body to her almost perfect face, her charm, her wit and cunning, not being popular, her friends (some I know). I just hope she likes me as much as I love her. I think of her every second of every day. I want to be with her. I imagine me and her doing things together, the sound of her laugh, I picture her face, I love her. If soul mates exist then I think I’ve found mine. I hope she likes techno…

[name removed] I love you,


1 Year, 7 Months, 15 Days before Columbine…

September 5th 1997

Oh God I want to die so bad. I feel like I am such a sad, desolate, lonely and unsalvageable person… not fair, not fair!!! I wanted happiness!! I never got it. Let’s sum up my life, the most miserable existence in the history of time. My best friend has ditched me forever, lost in bettering himself and having, enjoying, taking for granted his love. I’ve never known this, not 100 times near this. They look at me [names removed] like I’m a stranger. I helped them both out through life and they left me in the abyss of suffering when I gave them a boost out. The one I thought was my true love, [name removed], is not. Just a shell of what I want the most. The meanest trick was played on me… a fake love. In reality she doesn’t give a good fuck about me, doesn’t even know me. I have no happiness, no ambitions, no friends and no love!!! [name removed] can get me that gun, I hope. I want to use it on a poor son of a bitch I know. His name is VoDkA. Dylan is his name too. What else can I do or give? I stopped the pornography. I try not to pick on people. Obviously at least one power is against me. [name removed]. Funny how I’ve been thinking about her over the last few days, creating fake realities in my head that she and others might have liked me just a bit. My bad. I have always been hated, by everyone and everything, just never aware. Goodbye all the crushes I’ve ever had, just shells… images, nothing true. But why? Yes, You can read this, why did God [incoherent scrawl](arrow points down to text below)

A dark time,

Infinite sadness,

I want to find love.

Ignorance is bliss, happiness is ambition, desolation is knowledge, pain is acceptance, despair is anger, denial is helpless, martyrism is hope for others, advantages taken are causes of martyrism, revenge is sorrow, death is a reprieve, life is a punishment, the achievements of others are torment, people are alike, I am different – Dylan

I am a god, a god of sadness, exiled to this eternal hell. The people I helped abandon me. I am denied what I want, to love and be happy. Being made a human without the possibility of being human, the cruellest of all punishments. To some I am crazy; it is clear, yet so foggy. Everything is connected, separated. I am the only interpreter of this. I’d rather have nothing than be nothing. Some say godliness isn’t nothing. Humanity is the something I long for. I just want something I can never have. The story of my existence - Dylan

Goodbye, sorry to everyone… I just can’t take it. All the thoughts, too many, make my head twist. I must have happiness, love, peace. Goodbye.

1 Year, 7 Months, 15 Days before Columbine…

October 14th 1997

Sorry I didn’t write, a shitload has happened in my existence mist. Okay, I’ve been to hell and back. I’ve been to the zombie bliss side and I hate it as much, if not more, than the awareness part. I’m back now. I had a taste of what I thought I wanted but I was wrong. If there are possible girlfriends to come then I’ll give the phony shit up in a second. I want true love. I just want something I can never have. True I hate everything. Why can’t I die? Not fair. I want pure bliss, to be cuddling with [name removed], who I think I love deeper than ever. I was hollow, thought I was right. Another form of the Downward Spiral… deeper and deeper it goes. To cuddle with her, to be one with her, to love; just lying there. I need a gun. This is a weird entry… I should feel happy, but shit brought me down. I feel terrible. The Lost Highway apparently repeats itself. I want to drink, now. [name removed]… lucky bastard gets a perfect soul mate, who he can admit fucking suicide to and I get rejected for being honest about my fucking hate for jocks. From the wrong people maybe… [name removed] and [name removed]. Anyway, here are two poems.

Awareness signs the warrant for suffering. Why is it that the zombies achieve something I want (the overdeveloped me). They can love, why can’t I? The true existence lives in solitude, always aware, always infinite, always looking for his love. Peace might be the ultimate destination… destination unknown. I want happiness. Abandonment is present for the martyr. My thoughts exist in, want to live in. I want to find a room in the great hall and stay there with my love forever. Sadness seems infinite and the shell of happiness shines around. Yet the true despair overcomes it in this lifetime. How tragic too, my (dissolves into unstructured swearing).

No emotions, not caring. Yet another stage in this shit life. Suicide… Dylan Klebold.

(This entry was very hard to understand. I have done my best to write it in the way I believe Dylan wanted it to be read but it is very likely that I may have written this inaccurately.)

1 Year, 5 Months, 17 Days before Columbine…

November 3rd 1997

Fading farther and farther into the distance, that is what’s happening. Everything that the zombies and I consider real are just images, not life. Soon I will be at peace, I hope. Burn – “with all your life fucked up around you.” I get more depressed with each day, just more shit and I can’t ever stop it!!! [illegible scrawl]

Some god I am. All the people I ever might have loved have abandoned me, my parents piss me off and hate me… want me to have fucking ambition!! How can I when I get screwed and destroyed by everything? I have no money, no happiness, no friends. Eric will be getting farther away soon. I’ll have less than nothing… how normal. I wanted to love. I wanted to be happy, ambitious, free, nice, good and ignorant. Everyone abandoned me. I have small stupid pleasures, my so-called hobbies and doings, and those are all that’s left for me. I’m clinging onto the smallest rocks, one of many climbing up a never-ending vertical cliff. [name removed] and [name removed] found a plateau to exist on and they walked on me to get to it. Nobody will help me, only exist with me if it suits them. I helped, why can’t they? [name removed] will get me a gun and I’ll go on my killing spree against anyone I want. More craziness… deeper in the spiral, lost highway repeating, dwelling on the beautiful past, [name removed] and [name removed] getting drunk with me. Everyone moves up and I always stayed. Abandonment. This room sucks. I want to die.

Everything is as least expected. The meek are trampled on, the assholes prevail, the gods are deceiving, lost in my little insane asylum with the outhouse redneck music playing… I want to die and be free with my love, if she even exists. She probably hates me, will end up with a [illegible] or a jock that treats her like shit. I remember details. I remember nothing worth remembering. I don’t know who my love is; could be [name removed], or [name removed], or [name removed], or [name removed], or anyone. I don’t know and I’m sick of not knowing!! To be kept in the dark is a punishment!!

I have lost my emotions… like in the song ‘Hurt’ by Nine Inch Nails. People eventually find happiness. I never will. Does that make me a non-human? YES, the god of sadness. [removed] church was so fun… the recreation thing with Marc…

Lyrics to ‘Hurt’ by Nine Inch Nails (Not included in original account but included here for reference):

“I hurt myself today to see if I still feel,
I focus on the pain the only thing that’s real,
The needle tears a hole, the old familiar sting,
Try to kill it all away but I remember everything.

What have I become? My sweetest friend,
Everyone I know goes away in the end,
You could have it all, my empire of dirt,
I will let you down, I will make you hurt.

I wear this crown of shit upon my liar’s chair,
Full of broken thoughts I cannot repair,
Beneath the stains of time the feelings disappears,
You are someone else, I am still right here.

If I could start again a million miles away,
I would keep myself, I would find a way…”

1 Year, 3 Months, 18 Days before Columbine…

January 2nd 1998

Man, I don’t know what’s up lately… never do in this existence. All this shit with [name removed] and [name removed] is so weird and different than the past. Yet again, that is the way in this existence. I wonder if I’ll ever have a love… my love. [name removed] got his. I won’t ever get mine. Here are all the people I’ve loved, or at least liked, or thought I loved – all the same meaning. (Beneath this is a list of eighteen people, all names removed. Three of those names have hearts beside them.)

[name removed] is the newest… the purest, for now. She seems perfect for me. I seem perfect for her. I was delusional and thought she waved at me on the last day of school. Oh well… my emotions are gone, too much pain in the past alone, my senses are numbed. The beauty of being numb… later.

1 Year, 2 Months, 18 Days before Columbine…

February 2nd 1998

Well, well, so much changes… like existence. I understand almost everything now, so close to my love – [name removed]. The runes have shown it, she has shown it and I have felt it. I know the meaning of life: to be loved by your love and to be happy with oneself. This applies only to the gods though – me, [name removed*] and etc. The zombies and their society band together and try to destroy all that is superior, the things they don’t understand and fear. Soon, either I’ll commit suicide, or I’ll get with [name removed*] and it will be NBK (Abbreviation of the movie ‘Natural Born Killers’) for us. My happiness and her happiness… nothing else matters. I’ve been caught with most of my crimes, especially drinking, smoking, the vandalism to houses and the pipe bombs. If by fate’s choice [name removed] didn’t love me, I’d slit my wrists and blow up Atlanta. (This sentence does not finish here but continues with “strapped to my neck”. I’m not sure what was meant by this.) It’s good, understanding. It’s been a hard road since my realisation, and it seems to get easier, but it doesn’t! But that’s part of existence, unpredictability. Existence is pure hell and pure heaven at the same time. I will never stop wondering, the lost highway will never end, the music in my head will never stop… it is all part of existence. The hall will never end. The love will always be here. God I love her!!! It’s so great to love.

Society is tightening its grip on me, soon [name removed*] and I will snap. We will have revenge on society and then be free to exist in a timeless place of pure happiness. The purpose of life is to be happy and be with your love who shares that happiness equally. Not much more to say. Goodbye.

(*I believe these names removed are in fact Eric. This seems to be the point where his grip tightened around Dylan fully and forbidden fantasies begin to be expressed in writing. I have a feeling that Eric put this idea of being a god in Dylan’s head. It doesn’t seem to be a concept Dylan fully believes in his previous entries. I may be wrong of course. None of us will ever know.)

There is almost happiness in slavery. The real people, the gods, are slaves to the majority of zombies, but we know and love being superior. I didn’t want to be a jock. I hated the happiness that they have and I will have something infinitely better… I love her and she loves me.

By the way, some zombies are smarter than others. Some manipulate, like my parents. I am God. [name removed*] is God. And zombies will pay for their arrogance, hate, fear, abandonment and distrust.

I love you [name removed]. That’s all I think about anymore… I know that this humanity is almost done, that we will be free. We have proven to fate that we are the everything of purity and halcyon, and that we deserve, need, love, can’t exist without each other. It’s bad, I think that I might not be enough. My mind sometimes gets stuck on its own things and I think about human things. All I try to do is imagine the happiness between us. That is something we cannot even conceive in the toilet earth (possible reference to the album ‘This Toilet Earth’ by GWAR). The everything, the halcyon, the happiness is ours. There will be no notes from me. Let the humans suffer without my knowledge of the everything. I am trying not to think about the happiness, somehow thinking that fate will destroy it if I conceive and relish in it when I’m a human. But I love her. We are soul mates.

Love Letter

(Dylan’s handwriting in the letter below is much neater and more legible than his regular entries, a love letter written to a girl who never received it as it was still part of this journal when police took it from his home.)

[name removed],

You don’t consciously know who I am and undoubtedly unconsciously too. I, who writes this, love you beyond infinity. I think about you all the time and how this world would be a better place if you loved me as I do you. I know what you’re thinking: 2some psycho wrote me this harassing letter.” I hoped we could have been together; you seem a lot like me. Pensive, quiet, an observer, not wanting what is offered here – school, life, etc. You almost seem lonely, like me. You probably have a boyfriend though and might not have given this note another thought. I have thought of you as my true love for a long time now but, well, there was hesitation. You see I can’t tell if you think of anyone as I do you and if you did who that would be. Fate put me in need of you, yet this Earth blocked that with uncertainties. I will go away soon, but I just had to write this to you, the one I truly loved. Please, for my sake, don’t tell anyone about this, as it was only meant for you. Also, please don’t feel any guilt about my soon to be ‘absence’ from this world. It is solely my decision, nobody else’s. Oh, the thoughts of us, doing everything together, although not necessarily anything in particular, just to be together would have been pure heaven. I guess it’s time to tell you who I am. I was in a class with you in the first semester and was blessed with being with you in a report. I still remember your laugh. Innocent, beautiful and pure. This semester I still see you rarely. I am entranced during fifth period, as we both have it off. To most people I appear, well, almost scary. But that is who I appear to be because people are afraid of what they don’t understand. I denied who I was for a long time, until high school. Anyway, you have noticed me a few times. I catch every one of these gazes with an open heart. I think you know who I am by now. Unfortunately even if you did like me the slightest bit, you would hate me if you knew who I was. I am a criminal. I have done things that almost nobody would even think about condoning. The reason that I’m writing to you now is because I have been caught for the crimes I committed and I want to go to a new existence. You know what I mean, suicide. I have nothing to live for and I won’t be able to survive in this world after this legal conviction. However, if it were true that you loved me as I do you I would find a way to survive. Anything to be with you. I would enjoy life knowing that you loved me. There’s a ninety nine percent chance you probably think I’m crazy and want to stay as far away as possible. If that’s the case then I’m very sorry for involving an innocent person in my problems and please don’t think twice. However, if you are who I hoped for in my dreams and realities, then do me a favour: leave a piece of paper in my locker (Locker [You must be registered and logged in to see this link.] – Combo = 19-37-9 – near the library) saying anything that comes to you. Well, I guess this is it. Goodbye and I love(d) you.

(Signed Dylan Klebold.)

10 Months, 12 Days before Columbine…

June 8th 1998

I love her to infinity. I look back on my journey of awareness and see the parts and sections of my understanding. It is almost done, yet it is never done. I love [name removed], she is my soul mate, my love, all the imaginative halcyons and pure existences I have with her are almost happiness. I just wish I could call her but something blocks me from calling her. My human side is putting up a wall, to prevent me from calling her, like a few of ‘its’ truth. Bullshit. I will overcome all fears, doubts and zombie-based thoughts (oxymoron). I will follow our hearts, to the halcyon, loving her. I love you [name removed].

8 Months, 10 Days before Columbine…

August 10th 1998

One and a half human years. So much changed in such a small time. My friends, at my choice, are depleting and collapsing under each other (Eric and [name removed]) like I thought they would. I am ready to be with [name removed]. The ups and downs of fate are forever, good and bad, equal. The lost highway and downward spiral never end. Existence is like infinity times itself. I have passed through this much of the ever existence. This is almost a checkpoint. The zombies have set their place in my mind. Where the cliff theory is concerned, I’ve jumped off with [name removed] and we’ve floated away to the halcyon. The zombies will pay for their being, their nature. I know everything, yet I know nothing. I am a true god. My infinite memories, thoughts, perceptions of purity come a lot more with her. There is pure, pure happiness – the purpose of our existence. I hate and love things. I hate everything, love [mane removed] and I. I understand that I can never be a zombie, even if I wanted to – the nature of my entity. Soon we will live in the halcyons of our minds, the one thing that made me a god. Things are so simple now that they are infinitely complicated. HAHAHAHA.





WITH [name removed]

Fate is my only master.

This is probably my last entry. I will never stop learning. I love myself, close second to [name removed], my everlasting love. Goodbye.

3 Months before Columbine…

January 20th 1999

This shit again. Back at the writing, doing just like a fucking zombie. Lately I can’t change my mind from the fucking deeds of zombies. Earth, humanity, here. That is mostly what I think about. I hate it. I want to be free… free… I thought it would have been time by now. The pain multiplies infinitely, never stops. Yet I’m here, still alone, still in pain, so is she. The thing I have concluded is that fate will decide when we should be together. Fate decided when our existence started, it should end the same way with us unknowing, in limbo. I love you [name removed]. Always have, always will. I know she is tired of suffering as I am. It is time. It is time. I love her. The journey, the endless journey, started and it has to end. We need to be happy to exist timely. I see her in perfection, the halcyons. Love it, endless purity. I exist as a less than nothing without her. I don’t know if I should call her, or wait for fate to act. Yet calling her is a state of humanity. I’m forever sorry, infinitely, for the pornography. My humanity has a foot fetish and extreme liking for bondage. I try to thwart it, sometimes to no effect, yet the masturbation has stopped. I’m sorry [name removed] always. I feel the happiness here, thinking of her, for brief moments. That is how I know the everything is true.

(Next Page)

I love you.

I hate this non-thinking stasis. I’m stuck in humanity. Maybe going Natural Born Killers with Eric is the way to break free. I hate this.

The weather is a replication of our thoughts. The happiness is possible, imminent. I love you [name removed].

The happiness is close, visible, ending. End of the beginning of the halcyons.

The humanity is blocking me again. Time to go. Hahahaha fuck all. Hate this shit, need to be me. I love her.

(Next Page)

The framework of society stands above and below me. The hardest thing to destroy and yet the weakest thing that exists. I know that I am different, yet I am afraid to tell society. The possible abandonment and persecution is not something I want to face and yet it is so primitive to me. I guess being yourself means letting people know about your inner thoughts too, not just opinions and fashions. I will be free one day, in the land of purity and my happiness. I will have a love, someone who is me in a way. Someday… possibly though this life, maybe another, but it will happen.

(Next Page)

Love is more valuable than anything I know. To love is to enter a completion of one self. I hate those who choose to destroy a love, who take it for granted. Love is greater than life even. As I look for love, I feel I can’t find it. Ever. But something tells me I will. Someday, somewhere. As my love will find me. She feels as I do right now, I can feel it. We will be inseparable. Her and I. Whether it is [name removed] or not, I think I’ll find it. We will be free, to explore the vast wonders of the stars. To cascade down ever long waterfalls and through the warmest seas of pure happiness. No limits… no limits. Nothing will stop us.

(Next Page)

Everyone else – “This book cannot be opened; some supernatural force blocks it to common people”. Everything sucks in, letting go.

(Next Page)

I know it’s her, everything is true, my love is genuine. Love… existence forever is the happiness that we have achieved with each other.

(Next Page)

I now know the final battle. The pain of humanity is our love… I love you.

(Next Page)

To my love… As a man, a conqueror does his deeds of greatness, he thinks he is complete. Yet the truly great person achieves happiness only when he has met his soul mate. Alone, unknown until the first time they lay eyes on each other. A true love is hard to come by and yet it is the most fulfilling, beautiful, completing achievement any man can have. Some have wealth, some have power, some have great intellect, yet I feel an infinite number of times greater than those as I have found my true love.

(Next Page)

“My whole existence is flawed, you get me closer to god” – Nine Inch Nails

Self-awareness – infinity – existence – knowledge – neutrality – possibility of happiness – understanding of the everything…

The candle burns, the stars set the mood, the smoke fills the room, and the hope is sent through infinite places, all of purity…

[Please don’t show this note to anyone… it was meant only for you. Don’t tell anyone either. (You know me…)]

(Next Page)

(Scrawled over everything are the words I LOVE YOU.)

[name removed], I am so sorry… I see I have made you sad and fucked us up somehow. I will try, always. I will always love you, please know this…

(Next Page)

[name removed],

If you don’t know who I am still then I apparently haven’t been noticeable enough. Please don’t take offense or worry about this note. If you do know who I am, or if you want to anyway, please leave me a note saying whatever you want whether that’s you just telling me to fuck off or else you’ll call the cops, or if you want to say whatever, just please do me that favour… if you tell me to leave you alone I will. I like you [name removed], I but I won’t force that ever.

P.S. I did try to call you but you must have been asleep.

(Next Page)

(Written by Dylan)

In a boring, gay, retarded classroom there were a bunch of coolios doing some childish writing exercise for kindergardners. It was dark outside. There was a grenade launcher on the desk closest to the back wall and a couple of boxes of rockets. The spacey teacher made a groaning noise and started to throw globs of flesh at the kids. The kids turned into zombies and started throwing too.

(Written by unknown second person)

The coolios waited for the right moment. At last she turned her back and the coolios sprang into action. Reb (nickname of Eric Harris) grabbed the grenade launcher and began firing at the hideous beast.

(Written by Eric Harris)

Suddenly the zombie wouldn’t go down. Marine training kicked in and I dodged to the left, avoiding the flesh globs as they smacked against the wall behind me. Tossing a spare rocket to Vodka (Dylan’s nickname) he shoved it into the zombie master’s back as I distracted her by throwing Tombstones at her. Meanwhile the other coolios were battling the zombified students with their newly founded right guns.

(Written by unknown fourth person)

All of a sudden a bright light shot out of the sky. There was a huge explosion and tons of black smoke everywhere. One of the coolios stood up to see if anyone had survived. There was nothing to see, everything had disappeared and all that was left was a lonely coolio and one riot gun. Since he was so sad he shot himself.

5 Days before Columbine…

(I must note that the following entry is very hard to interpret and as such it is likely that it may not be written as it was intended.)

The humanity of here and now, clouds are all that I see. Yet the me, the one, can now control the pain and it is done. Five more days, a very influential number, another brick in my journeyed wall. Humans are zombies; they search for acceptance and greed and kill themselves through each other. They will never learn, or maybe they will, but won’t have the strength to learn. To be aware is not a trait, it is a godlike thing, Blessed God. Not a Christian, Jesus, Abraham, David, bible gay shit god, but a true controller of existence. Fate and chaos has to make us this way.

These moments will be lost in the depressions and caverns of the human books forever, like tears in pain, but the thoughts will be eternal. To explain the happiness is impossible for fate. It’s just a pure halcyon set to last more existences than a conceivable number. Stupid, gay, nigger humans think I’m crazy. Or they think I’m childish. Hahaha. Just because I can’t solve S sin52xss3xdx that makes me dumb! Because I can’t stay thinking in a 2nd dimension, instead I go to the 5th! Haha. So I wait five more days. Five more days. Five eternities. And I know he and I are conceived from ourselves and each other. Every night of the self-awareness journey, every thought we conceived, we have finished the race. Time to die. Everything we knew we were able to understand it, to perceive it into what we should. Everything we knew, we know and use. An understanding of the everything. An Einstein stuck in an ant’s body. We are the nature of existence. The zombies were a test to see if our love was genuine. We are in wait of our reward… each other. The zombies will never cause us pain anymore. The humanity was a test. I love you, love. Time to die, time to be free, time to love.

(I find it so strange reading Dylan’s diary. I get the strong impression that this unknown person he considered his true love was a smoke screen, that he was using her as a way to hide who he truly felt those things for. Many people have said that both Dylan and Eric were in fact lovers, a notion I found very absurd until I read this diary. I can really see why people may think that and in fact I suspect that it’s very likely to be true. I guess we will never know for certain.)

1 Day before Columbine…

One day. One is the beginning? The end. Hahaha. Reversed, yet true. About 26.5 hours from now the judgement will begin. Difficult, but not impossible. Necessary, nerve-wracking and fun.

What fun is life without a little death?

It’s interesting when I’m in my human form, knowing I’m going to die… everything has a touch of triviality to it. Like how none of this calculus shit matters. The way it shouldn’t. The truth. In 26.4 hours I will be dead and in happiness. The little zombie human fags will know their errors and be forever suffering and mournful. Hahaha, of course I will miss things. Not really.

Why does anyone do anything?
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A Cullenista edited Dylan's diary to make him seem more normal Empty
PostSubject: Re: A Cullenista edited Dylan's diary to make him seem more normal   A Cullenista edited Dylan's diary to make him seem more normal Icon_minitimeSun Sep 20, 2015 5:02 am

So, this is some fan-transcript type thi9ng of the guy trying to read through Dylan's drizzle handwrighting?

Life is like a tram - you need to know when to get off.

"Bullet Time" - a school shooting film from Poland
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A Cullenista edited Dylan's diary to make him seem more normal
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