Yes, the Ever-lasting contrast. Since existence has known, the 'fight' between good & evil has continued. Obviously, this fight can never end. Good things turn bad, bad things become good. My fav. contrasting symbol, because it is so true & means so much – the battle between good & bad never ends… Here we ponder on the tragedy of Dylan Klebold.
I’ll probably need to relink it. That happens every so often where the links just stop working. Someone please re-remind me on the weekend, and I’ll re upload the chat transcripts.
If that someone is blatantly leaked specific details of their plans: the when, the where and the how it will happen, then it should be taken seriously. Even if they aren’t serious about making good on those plans – regardless, they probably need some sort of intervention help. You can contact:
Crime Stoppers National Tip Hotline 1-800-222-TIPS (8477)
It is anonymous tipping so nothing will come back on you for notifying the authorities.
If you feel that this is a very serious situation, please don’t waffle about it. Be the one to take action because you could be saving lives. Better to risk by calling than risk the horrible regret for doing nothing.
Let us know how it goes. 🙂 You can always DM me and we can discuss in private too. Good luck ❤
From the Columbine Report, document 9001-9100, page 23:
“(CONTINUED: interview of Melissa Chavez) MELISSA added that HARRIS and KLEBOLD were a few other boys about their age when she met him, some of which were also wearing black clothing. MELISSA said HARRIS and KLEBOLD were almost always together when she saw them at Funplex. She added that HARRIS was “really cool,” and that she knew him better as he spoke with her more than KLEBOLD. She also added that KLEBOLD appeared to want to keep her out of their group. MELISSA said that HARRIS spoke frequently of suicide and told her how his life “sucked,” because people picked on him. She could not provide who was picking on HARRIS, or where this was occurring. She added that she felt she had talked HARRIS out of killing himself several times.”
Excerpt of Eric Harris’ Diversion File: “Eric said that he has thought about suicide a couple of times, but never seriously, mostly out of anger.”
Eeh, honestly I don’t think you would find anything particularly unusually anomalous, distinctly different or abnormal about Eric and Dylan’s brains. I’d say that goes for a fair demographic of some of these shooters as well. The irony is that they were/are ‘average’ or ‘normal’ like you and me and anyone else. They could be anyone one of us and conversely, we could be them..if we were angry and depressed enough and stopped caring about living or finding value in all life in general. Of course, this is my speculation of a hypothetical situation of being able to look at their brains. It’s what I believe. So, I’m curious what happened with the boxer’s brain – did they find anything unusual?
I don’t know if Rachel and Devon were “close” friends but they were friendly from associating in theater production class. At the time of Devon’s birthday party, (which would have been between her Freshman and Sophomore year in July of 98) it’s difficult to say whether she’d already started in theater production class and had known Rachel well enough to invite her to her party. Hard to say really. Though, I would suspect that Devon started theater class during her Sophomore year. Thank you! And a lovely day and high spirits back at you! 🙂
If he was dating a girl he liked and she was giving him some signals she was interested – in a heart beat. He was starving for love. He secretly wore his heart on his sleeve for the romantic idea of love. Of course, that doesn’t mean it’d be automatically transparent to her that he was smitten for her, only that he was being extremely awkward and bashful.
I can just see him.. alone in his bedroom, late into the night. His red shuttered windows opened wide as a soft, warm breeze of night time gently wafts in. There is the sound of crickets and other wild life off in the distance. His outside view is majestic, primal and untamed. A beautiful sight for those who can still see and appreciate not for those who have already seen many times and have long since taken for granted. The jagged outline of pine trees and ancient pink canyons are now a looming onyx. They jut upward to the horizon in a competing, stark, contrast to the pitch blackness of the midnight sky. Every star is a distinct pinpoint, magically pulsating and twinkling.in silent reverie.
The flick of his Zippo cuts the silence, and the flame flicks forth in contrast to the darkness of his room, casting a small warm glow. His long, dexterous fingers light the wick of one, lone, white candle before him.
He takes a swing of his flask and settles down onto the floor. The liquid burns the back of his throat. It blooms and glows a soothing warm throughout his body, numbing the pervasive sadness.
Only a soft repetitive beat and melody plays in the background from his stereo speakers like a constant, hypnotic mantra. The volume turned down several notches in the wee hours of the night as his parents’ slumber unaware.
He leans back against his window seat and focuses on the flame as it dances, casting shadows on the wall. The Ponderer’s restless, heavy mind, with its constant flurry of thoughts, begins to finally still, to drift into a quiet state of a reprieve as his tired, blue eyes stare at the rhythmic dance of the candle’s flame, and thoughts begin to singularly focus on his wishes, his dreams..his true love, his heart’s desire. He basks in the visions of pure happiness that come. Normally fleeting glimpses, they are crystal clear now.
His voice speaks soft and low, interrupting the silence with intent. An invocation to the universe..if per chance it was in fact, listening.
“The candle burns....,”
He waves his finger tips over the billowing vapor hovering just about the flame…
…he glances up and focuses his gaze off into the distances at the vast, dark heavens with its infinite bespeckled stars.
he continues in a murmur.
“The stars set the mood……”
A gentle, warm September breeze gently gusts in through the window shutters causing the candle to flicker as if in response to his words.. causing it to nearly blow out.
He purses his lips and slowly blows on the flame teasingly, until..at last.. the flame is over powered and sputters out.
A billowing, white, wisp of smoke curls.up into the air before him.. The acrid scent filling his nostrils.
“the smoke fills the room”
…it spirals upward…ascending higher… out the window..on to the wind…
“the hope is sent thru infinite places…..
..carrying his prayers like a message in a bottle…
all of purity….”
…. up, into the endless starlit sky.
Another year has passed, and another candle lit in memory of all the hope and possibility that you once were, that which you became, and all that you now are.
The hope is sent thru infinite places, all of purity…to you.
The Everlasting Contrast 