Title: Ted Kaczynski's Journal of Early Crimes
Author: Ted Kaczynski
Date: 1979
Notes: A hand-written folded sheet of paper detailing his acts of “monkey wrenching” and first attempts at planting bombs.

Here I am going to confess to—or, to be more accurate, brag about—some misdeeds I have committed in the last few years.

There's a small functioning mine.

I'll call it mine X for future reference, a few miles from my cabin.

On the South side of the Ridge that runs E from here.

They had a large.

Diesel engine mounted on the back of an old truck.

Apparently for running a large drill for boring holes in rock.

I put a small quantity of sugar in the fuel tank of the diesel engine and also in the gas tank of the truck.

Sugar in the gas is supposed to severely damage the cylinders and act as an abrasive.

Somebody used to have an oldish house trailer parked at an abandoned mine Upfield Gulch.

It seemed to be used only in hunting season.

They broke into this trailer by undoing some screws and prying off a metal window frame, ruining it in the process.

I had a strong psychological I had a strong psychological inhibition against breaking the window, even though it's very unlikely anyone could have been within earshot.

I stole a few cans of food from the trailer.

There was a bed under the removed window whose mattress probably got soaked with rain.

Later next summer, I noticed the trailer had been removed.

I went to the camp.

Apparently it's an Outfitters camp.

Along the Divide Trail east of the Trout Creek drainage.

They had a corral there and a little way back in the woods.

They kind of leaned too, with equipment stored in it.

I stole an axe.

This is the axe I still use.

Poked holes in several 5 gallon plastic water containers.

Took the stove pipe and hit it off in the woods.

Smashed 2 thermometers.

And scattered most of the other stuff around.

At the end of summer, after the roaring by, motorcycles near my camp spoiled the hike for me, I put a wire across the trail where cycle tracks were visible at about neck height for a motorcyclist.

Next summer I found someone had wrapped the wire safely around a tree.

Unfortunately, I doubt anyone was hurt by it.

I went back to my nex and put a generous quantity of sugar in the fuel tank of the diesel engine and gas tank of the truck.

When those guys were taking rock for landfill near my cabin here, I went at night and put a large quantity of sugar in the gas tank on an oldish pickup truck they had left there.

In fall, I went to a certain cabin in Rochester Gulch from trackside scene.

I'm pretty confident that it is.

The people who own this cabin were responsible for much of the motorcycle roaring that occur on the Ridge that runs E from Baldy.

Parked behind the cabin I found two snowmobiles in Akut A4 wheeled off road vehicle. I sugared the gas on the coop. I should have the gas on the cout and one of the snowmobiles.

Later, I went back to the same cabin.

There was a diesel earthmoving machine parked near it, and I sugared the field.

Then I unscrewed a window from its frame.

Still that inhibition about breaking windows.

Entered the cabin, stole the trail axe, slashed the mattresses of six beds they had their slashed the sofa and poured out 1/3 full bottle of vodka.

The next summer I set a booby trap intended to kill someone, but I won't say what kind or where, because if this page is ever found, the trap might be harmlessly removed.

But it probably doesn't have more than maybe a one in five chance of killing or seriously injuring someone.

I also strung a neck wire for motorcyclists along the divide trail about Brewster Bill Creek.

Later I found the wire was gone.

Whether it hurt?

Anyone I don't know?

Up South, Fork Humbug, I shot a cow in the head with my 3030.

And then got the hell out of there.

I mean a ranchers cow, not an elk cow.

I also went down at dawn and smashed Lee Mason mailbox with my axe in such a way that it looks as if some vehicle might.

Have hit it.

In fall, I went to some cabins along Dalton Mountain Rd.

It was a small house trailer parked on the lot, immaculately furnished inside.

I stole the rusty animal trap I found outside the cabin.

Overcoming my earlier inhibitions, I smashed most of the windows in the trailer, then reached inside with my rifle and smashed a Coleman Lantern and two gas lamp fixtures.

I smashed 6 panes on the cab and had the camera neck.

Or I shot a hole in a new tire on a trailer.

Then I got.

Then I got the hell out pretty quick because all this was noisy, of course, and close to the road.

As a result of indoctrination since childhood had a strong inhibitions against doing these things.

And it was only at the cost of great effort that I overcame the inhibitions.

I think that perhaps I could now kill someone under circumstances where there was very little chance of getting caught, but I'm not sure I could, because often one brainwashing turns out to be stronger than one thought.

As for motivation, I hate the technological society because it deprives me of personal autonomy.

It may be in some sense inevitable, but it is so only because of the way people behave.

Consequently, I hate people for the technological society and its associated phenomena.

From motorcycles to computers to psychological controls.

Almost anyone who holds steady employment is contributing his part.

Of course.

People I hate most are those who consciously and willfully promote the technological society, such as scientists, businessmen and politicians.

I emphasize that my motivation is personal revenge.

I don't pretend to have any kind of philosophical or moralistic justification.

The concept of morality is simply one of the psychological tools by which society controls people's behavior.

In May 1978, I came back to the Chicago area, mainly for one reason, so that I could more safely attempt to murder a scientist businessman.

Or the like.

I would also like to kill a Communist.

Before leaving Montana, I made a bomb in a kind of box.

Designed to explode when the box was opened.

This was a long narrow box.

I picked the name.

I picked the name of an electrical engineering professor out of the catalog of the RESULI, or Polytechnic Institute and addressed the bomb package to him.

I took the package to downtown Chicago, intending to mail it from there.

But it didn't fit in the mailboxes.

And the post office package drops I checked out did not look as if they could swallow such a long package except in one post office at the Merchandise Mart.

But that was where I had bought stamps for the package a few days ago, so it's afraid to go there again because my face might be remembered.

So I took the bomb to the University of Illinois Circle campus and Superstitiously dropped it between two parked cars in the lot near the science and technology buildings I hope the student, preferably one in the science field, would pick.

Get up and would either be a good citizen and take the package to a post office or would open the package himself and blow his hands off or get killed.

I checked the newspapers carefully afterwards but could get no information about the outcome of what I did.

I have not the least feeling of guilt about this.

On the contrary, I am proud.

Of what I did.

But I wish I had some reassurance that I succeeded in killing or maiming someone.

Earlier this month, I left the second bomb in her room, marked graduate student research at the Technological Institute at Northwestern University.

The bomb was in a cigar box and it was arranged to go off when the box was opened.

I did it this way instead of mailing the bombs of someone, because an unexpected package in the mail might arouse suspicion.

According to the Tribune, may.

Tonight, a graduate student was hospitalized with cuts and burns as a result of my bomb.

Unfortunately, I didn't notice anything in the article indicating he would suffer any permanent disability.

I figured the bomb was probably not powerful enough to kill unless one of the lead pellets I put in it happened to penetrate a vital organ.

But I had hoped that the victim would be blinded, or have his hand blown off, or be otherwise maimed.

Well, at least I put him in the hospital, which is better than nothing, but nothing to satisfy me.

I wish I knew how to get some dynamite.

By the way, my motive for keeping these notes separate from the others is the obvious one. Some of my other notes contain hints of crime, but no actual accounts of felonies. But these notes must be very carefully kept from everyone’s eyes. Kept separate from the other notes they make a small, compact packet, easily concealed.

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