Saturday, October 31, 2009

Lawyers: You get what you pay for

About three weeks ago I talked to my appointed attorney on the phone. This is the same attorney referenced in my first post here "A Hello to the World", who was appointed after I fired the Federal Defender Mark Wilson. I was told about a pending order to allow monitoring of my computer by the Probation department. Monitoring which I would have to pay $25 per month for. I would not touch this computer if that happened.

Would I not use a computer? Of course not. I would buy a laptop with cash and go mobile. I told them so. This is a waste of time unless they want to harass me, which apparently they do.

So back to my attorney. I told him to forget this. He responded by saying "Well, before we tell them to stuff it maybe you should think about it over the next few days and get back to me." He said they would look for activity on the internet that matched "my signature" -meaning writing style and interest- and get log records to connect to me and then I would be in violation for using a computer. I said fine, if that's the way they want to be than that's what they will do, but I'm not submitting to monitoring.

I never had any further conversation with him, so he just ignored what I said and agreed with the court. The court is paying him, not me, so I guess I'm getting what I paid for huh?

Here are scans of the documents I received in the mail October 30, 2009 for Allan Eric Carlson. If you right click and open in a new window you can view these full size in your browser and even save a copy if that is your desire.



He sounds so polite and friendly does he not? He certainly isn't like that on the phone. Talking to him is about as welcome as talking to the probation department. Or the FBI.




My first name is spelled wrong but this is the court order for Allan Eric Carlson. With the Feds only the number can be depended upon. Remember that if looking me up at the www.bop.gov Web site to see if I'm incarcerated again or where I'm at using the Inmate Locator.


 
"You talkin' to me?"

TES7NBUGY4MB 

Thursday, October 29, 2009

A Hello to the World

On July 2nd 2009 I was released from the Federal prison in Williamsburg, South Carolina after serving almost all of my four year sentence. The Bureau of Prisons took most of my good time. I spent more than a year of my sentence in the Hole. I filed complaints against BOP staff with the Office of Professional Responsibility at the Justice Department, overseen by H. Marshall Jarrett. My complaints were ignored.

ConAir is quite real. Twice I was given disciplinary transfers via ConAir, which entailed four separate flights on 707 jets. The holding facility in Oklahoma City looks like something out of 1970's science fiction film. The prison is actually alongside the runway of the airport. A passenger terminal extends out to the plane door just like at a regular airport, and prisoners get off shackled and shuffle for about a city block onto platforms to be unshackled by U.S. Marshals who perform this job full time. I recognized most of them on the second trip.

On my second trip I sat behind a couple of Marshals as one relayed how she bought liquor at a good price in Honduras when taking back deportees to their country. ConAir now travels to Central America, the Dominican Republic and Columbia to return felons who are not citizens. The Marshals did not like their stop over in Columbia, principally because they did not like the Columbians who they met there.

ConAir lands and takes off from the cargo areas of an airport. Lots of UPS and FedEx jets around. Amazon generates a lot of business for airports from all that mouse clicking.

So how would I characterize my time in Federal custody? Well, by the end I was writing to Senator Lautenberg's office and asking to be transferred to Guantanamo. I wrote that I feel like a Palestinian in Gaza, waiting for the Hellfire missile to end it. And in my 2255 Habeas Corpus petition I declared myself a political prisoner of the United States government. This is a fact, and because there are no real journalists in this country (the species only exist in Hollywood movies), declaring myself a political prisoner this way is the only way to get that on the record. I regard the “mainstream” media in the United States as a collection of pedophiles who do as they're told because they can't do time in prison safely.

Since I've been out I have been subject to harassment from the probation department, which seems to have died down in the past month, but only after going before the judge for a probation revocation hearing. Until yesterday I had not heard from the probation department. I go to see a psychologist in Atlantic City every two weeks and this is apparently how I report. This costs the good old taxpayers two hundred dollars per visit. I like my therapist so you taxpayers are getting your monies worth. The bill for the past four years runs better than $120,000 total for what amounts to a form of torture. For a case where they had difficulty concocting an argument for damages and could only come up with $16,000.

Sounds like a case that never should have been filed, and if so certainly should have resulted in an offer of a short term of probation. But that is for people not named Allan Eric Carlson. I did not even receive a plea bargain offer. Also unheard of in the Federal system.

But I digress.

At that hearing in Philly a probation officer from the Philadelphia office (I'm actually assigned to the Trenton office) with a short Marine haircut told me that I could not use a computer without allowing them to install monitoring equipment on it, which I have refused. They also wanted me to pay $25 per month for this monitoring which would entail sealing my computer to the point of taping over USB ports.

So what happens when they discover this blog post? Possibly I'm in violation of my probation because I chose not to use a computer rather than submit to monitoring, though I have not signed papers as yet to this effect. This Marine guy actually told me “You're on probation, you don't have any Constitutional rights!” Before I went into the courthouse in Philly a woman tourist asked me where Independence Hall was. I pointed over about two blocks away at a tower and told her “See that? That is Independence Hall. The Liberty Bell is right over there.”

I don't think it's a coincidence that this short haired probation officer has that attitude. The Pentagon is clearly an unconstitutional institution. So is it's sister organization the CIA. Those two agencies and their offspring are exactly what the Founding Fathers were most against. And clearly when the Founders warned against foreign entanglements they were thinking about the Pentagon and CIA's favorite nation, Israel.

And why did I get sent to prison? Well, certainly my “Federal Defender” Mark Wilson did not help. He would have been no less help if he had went to sleep. He knew the transcripts would suggest that he had so he scribbled notes non-stop so as to have evidence of his being awake, which only raises questions about why he had no questions about the absurd evidence presented, and the specious claims made by the prosecution witnesses who were clearly coached by the prosecution. Another job for the Office of Professional Responsibility to look into, but I've already discovered that H. Marshall Jarrett has no interest in wrongs perpetrated upon me. His successor Mary Patrice Brown is likely no different.

On my way into court one day during the trial I was walking with my Federal Defender and remarked to him that I was “being railroaded”. Mark Wilson doubled over in laughter, as if “No shit! You just figured that out?”

After the trial I fired the Federal Defenders office (the Judge would not allow me to do so before trial). I was then appointed an attorney from a public pool of the species.

I asked this attorney if he could get a computer expert to look at the evidence presented and challenge it as I knew it was bogus. A few weeks went by and then I was called to his office. There I was introduced to a dark haired hatchet faced little guy who weighed maybe 120 lbs. A character who you see in a movie. A guy who gives you the creeps. He did something to my attorney too because he twisted up as he bent across his desk to point at the little creep, and in body language unlike I have seen before or since from him he informed me that this guy was “the husband of a female defense attorney and he learned about computers working at the Pentagon.”

This guy never looked up from what he was doing, and as events unfolded he did what he could to leave the impression that indeed he was from the Pentagon -or some other Federal agency- and he was really there to get a copy of my hard drive, which he did.

So it's pushing toward seven years since the FBI SWAT team pulverized the door to my apartment at 5:33 AM and began my journey through the Federal system. As bad as it is, it is not my first nightmare. The state of California with the FBI behind them in the shadows did me for a stretch from December 2005 until about October 2002. And the harassment and arrests began almost two years before that. We're talking about fifteen years of harassment and incarceration. For what? Because I would not accept this governments immigration policy and did something about it? Did I miss something in school? Was all that stuff about the Founding Fathers, Free Speech, the First Amendment and fighting tyranny and us Americans living in a free Republic all a big joke? Was I supposed to hear a laugh track playing in the background while learning these lessons?

If not then this government owes me. They owe me a lot. If fifteen years ago I was told I could take a beating like Rodney King and everything would be “square”, or I could live out the next fifteen years (which are not settled yet, the problem continues) as they have unfolded, I would have taken my shirt off without hesitation and said “let's get this over with.”

Well, Rodney King got four million dollars for that beating.

I'm worth a lot more than Rodney King. Yet I have no money. I have no children. I have no wife. I have no life. I seem to be a story without a happy ending.