Transcript
<<-VoDkA->>
3-31-97
Life existence
EL THOUGHTZO’S
AH yes, this is me writing… just writing, nobody technically did anything, just i felt like throwing out my thoughts – this is a wierd time, wierd life, wierd existence. As i sit here (partially drunk w. 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 24/7 (xpt for sleep), just songs i hear, not necessarily good or bad, & thinking… about the asshole [edited] in Gym class, how he worries me, about driving, & my family, about friends & doings with them, about girls i kno (mainly [edited] & [ edited]), how i kno i can never have them, yet i can still dream… I do shit to supposedly ‘cleanse’ myself in a spiritual, moral sort of way (deleting the ‘limits’ on my comp, not getting drunk for periods of time, trying not to ridicule/make fun of people (edited]) at school, yet it does nothing to help my life – moraly. My existence is shit. To me – how i feel that i am in eternal suffering. in infinite directions in infinite realities – yet these [Dylan scribble] realities are fake- artificial, induced by thought, how everything connects, yet it’s all so far apart…. & i sit & think… Science is the way to find solutions to everything, right? I still think that, 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 & bad movies
a lot on the past though… ive always had a thing for the past – how it reacts to the present & the future – or rather vice versa. I wonder how/when i got so fucked up… my mind, existence, problem – when Dylan Benet Klebold got covered up by this entity containing Dylan’s body… as i see the people at school – some good, some bad – I see how different i am (aren’t we all you’ll say) yet i’m on such a greater scale of difference (as far as I kno, or guess) I see jocks having fun, friends, woman, LIVEZ
[two drawn arrows pointing down to the text below]
or rather shallow existences compared to mine (maybe). Like ignorance = bliss – they don’t know this world (how I do in my mind or in reality, or in this existence) yet we each are lacking something that the other possesses — i lack the true human nature that Dylan owned, & they lack the overdeveloped mind/ imagination/ knowledge tool I don’t fit in here thinking of suicide gives me hope, that i’ll be in my place wherever I go after this life. that ill finally not be at war w. myself, the world, the universe – my mind, body, everywhere, everything at PEACE… me- my soul (existence). & the rotine – is still monotonous, go to school, be scared & nervous, somewhat hoping that people can accept me… that i can accept them… the NIN song Piggy is good for thought writing… The lost Highway sounds like a movie about me… im gonna write later, bye – <<-VoDkA->>
The next paragraphs will be my take/opinions, deep diving the media he mentioned and then lastly a brief psychoanalysis of his entry.
My take
Dylan Klebold’s writings are raw, messy, and deeply personal. The two pages transcribed here reveal recurring themes of alienation, existential questioning, suicidal ideation, and the longing for peace.
“Shitloads of Thinking”
Klebold begins by describing the overwhelming nature of his mind:
“That’s all my life is, just shitloads of thinking – all the time… my mind never stops… music runs 24/7 (and for sleep) just songs I hear… & thinking…”
This sense of being trapped in constant thought runs throughout his writing. He portrays his brain as something he cannot switch off, spiraling between music, random reflections, and deep existential fears. To him sleep provides no escape, even then his mind stays active, restless, and heavy.
Alienation From Others
He frequently contrasts himself with his classmates, often in harsh, dismissive terms:
“I see the people at school – some good, some bad – I see how different I am (aren’t we all, you’ll say) yet in such a greater scale of difference than everyone else.”
“I see [others] having fun, friends, woman, ALIVE… or rather shallow existences compared to mine.”
Here, I believe Klebold both distances himself and expresses envy. He criticizes what he calls “shallow existences” but also mourns his own inability to have what others posses:
friends, relationships, a sense of being alive.
This tension between superiority and inadequacy is very central to his self-image.
The Pull of Philosophy and the Infinite
His writing repeatedly drifts toward metaphysical reflections:
“My existence is shit… I feel that I am in eternal suffering, in infinite directions, in infinite realities.”
“Yet these realities are like artificial, removed by thought – how everything comes & goes – it’s all so repetitive.”
Klebold seems to frame his depression in philosophical and big terms. Rather than simply saying he is sad, he describes his life as “eternal suffering” and “infinite realities.” These grand descriptions show how he intellectualized his emotions or how he was somewhat disconnected from them.
Suicidal Longing = Peace
The most heartbreaking sections are where he writes about suicide. For Klebold, death isn’t framed as revenge or even escape. It’s imagined as peace:
“I don’t fit in here… thinking of suicide gives me hope, that I’ll be in my place wherever I go after this life… that I’ll finally not be at war w. myself, the world, the universe – my mind, body, everywhere, everything.”
“A PEACE in me – my soul (existence).”
Klebold envisions death as a release from the war inside his mind. He speaks of suicide with calmness, almost with relief, as though imagining it allows him to feel momentarily free. This reinforces the idea that, at least for him, Columbine was a means to an end, with the mass violence and aggression layered on top of an already deeply suicidal worldview.
The fragmented self
A recurring thing is the splitting of his identity into different parts.
Mind, body, soul, and existence. His writing can suggest that he didn’t experience himself as a unified whole. This fragmentation adds to his alienation, not only from others but from himself.
What now?
Dylan Klebold’s writing is full of contradictions: superiority and inferiority, hatred and longing, despair and faint hope. His reflections on “peace” through death foreshadow his end, while his dismissal of his peers as “shallow existences” hints at the contempt that, paired with Eric Harris’ contempt, would spiral into mass violence.
Analysing this to me, is about understanding how alienation, untreated depression/mental illness, and suicidal ideation can curdle into something catastrophic when combined with influence, opportunity, and planning. His early journals remind us that behind the infamy of Columbine was a deeply troubled teenager who first wanted to just die, and only later helped orchestrate the deaths of others.
Go to the next page as I talk about the media he mentioned
Echoes in the Columbine Archive 
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