It has been a while since my last post. That is due to my life existing in a state of limbo. On Friday, March 19, 2010 this changed dramatically.
That morning one of my two probation officers stopped by. His name is Steve Carmichael. He wants you to know that. He told me in my house, in front of my mother and my other probation officer that I could write about him on the Internet.
Strange guy.
I was not expecting him until Monday, and his appearance on Friday was deliberate. He was there to catch me using my computer without using it in US Probation trojaned form.
I did not let him in. Steve Carmichael would not take no for an answer though. He contacted the Vineland police and had three officers break in on the pretext that I “threatened my mother”. How did I do this? Steve Carmichael overheard me through the door tell her “Don't answer the door.”
My mother is 82 years old. She was very, very upset when she found three policemen in her house. She informed them that she was in no trouble from me but was very upset at the continual phone calls and visits from the US Probation department and could not understand what the reason for any of it was.
It was about to get a whole lot worse.
Steve Carmichael checked my computer upstairs after throwing the Comcast PHONE/Internet/TV modem on the floor and breaking the battery compartment open. He then ran downstairs and asked me if I had “swapped out the hard drive”.
I told him to ask Martha Stewart.
Steve Carmichael then told me I was in violation of my probation and I told him to send me paperwork from the judge in my case with a court date and I would be there.
Steve Carmichael would not let it rest there though. He is an extremely passive aggressive individual. No one I have ever met has suffered from such a condition more than Steve Carmichael. Such people are usually explosive in temperament, and Steve Carmichael committed perjury in his petition to Federal judge Berle Schiller in his request for an arrest warrant for me, and in the process engineered a very explosive situation.
The big bang occurred later that afternoon.
Steve Carmichael returned with a contingent, an SUV-with-smoked-glass-posse of US Marshall's. They brought with them Glocks and a mini-submachine gun.
Apparently my keyboard is considered a lethal weapon. It does have laser etched back-lighting.
The jokes are now over.
My mother was in the bathroom finishing her shower when they began knocking and demanding that I open up. I assumed they would be coming upstairs to tear the place apart to find a hard drive that Steve Carmichael thought was swapped out. He had also in the past discussed with me laptops with “aircards” so I had reason to believe he would be searching for something like that as well.
Why else show up with US Marshall's when I had appeared for a probation hearing in the past without incident?
My mother came out after a while and she began talking to them from the bedroom window informing them she was not dressed. The Marshall's ordered me to open up rather than respond civilly to her. I told them I needed to use the bathroom and I would open the door.
Before I had finished washing my hands they had broken in the front door ($500 to fix) and were pointing all their aforementioned guns at me. I put my hands on my head and walked down the steps. As I did so the cap worn by one of the Marshall's in front of the pack came into focus. He was wired like a meth-head. The cap was for the Phillies baseball team.
I took two more steps and then the Phillies cap was buried in my mid-section. I could have fought this off without removing my hands from my head but I was not trying to resist arrest. I exclaimed 'What are you doing?”
Then the others dropped their guns and piled on, punching me and grabbing me. I was flipped over on my stomach and handcuffed high and hard, one third of the way to a “Palestinian Hanging” position.
Quickly they jerked me up and dragged me through the doorway into the family room, then flung me face down in front of the TV. I did not even have time to protest before the kicking and stomping began. At least twice I was kicked in the head, each time I saw a silver flash in the dark, like a lighter being flicked in the dark without a flame produced. Then I was kicked very hard in the left side of my rib cage. I am still feeling serious pain from this. At some point the back of my left leg was stomped or kicked as well and I have a terrible bruise and swelling behind the left knee.
When the Rodney King game stopped one of the Marshall's leaned over, grabbed me by the throat, lifted me from the floor and choked me until I could not breath at all. He shook me by the throat as well and yelled “Are you going to act like a human being!?”
Apparently US Marshall's are an ironic lot.
I was then released and fell back to the floor as I was cuffed high and hard the whole time behind my back. The Marshall then warned me that if I gave them any further trouble on the ride to Philly “This would resume.”
My adrenaline was firing through my veins and I felt a bizarre sense of triumph as the passive aggressive bullshit of Steve Carmichael had been replaced by out-and-out hatred of Allan Eric Carlson. I looked up at two Marshall's standing over me and forced a smile at them and maintained it. The choker reacted quickly. “What are you smiling at?”
Then he placed the sole of his filthy sneaker on my throat and choked me again until I turned my head toward the patio door where two Vineland police officers, one male from earlier that morning, and a female stood and watched. The sneaker remained on my throat after he released the pressure for several minutes until they figured out their next move.
I was jerked up from the carpet and led out through the patio door to a Vineland police car, which transported me to the front of my neighbors house where I was jerked out and put in the front passenger seat of a Marshall's SUV. Still cuffed in the mock Palestinian Hanging position. I remained this way until we got to the State police barracks in Bellmawr off the 42 freeway. There I was cuffed to the front with my wrists anchored to a chain put around my waist before being put in the backseat of another pair of Marshall's SUV for the ride to the Federal Detention Center in Philadelphia.
I was never taken to a hospital for the requested x-ray of my ribs. My Bureau of Prisons intake photo on the 19th shows my face swollen on both sides, my left cheekbone the size of a golf ball, a three inch abrasion across my chin.
I then lay down in my assigned cell in the Hole over the weekend in round -the-clock pain.
On Monday I was taken to court for arraignment and to my surprise released. After the beating it is hard to reconcile a release without bail even being posted. The beating and the intense pursuit by Steve Carmichael gave me a doomed feeling, as if I were a star of “America's Most Wanted” who had been captured.
And for what reason? I am still without an answer. I have bothered no one since my release. I gave up posting or even following baseball due to the acute persecution I have received.
Steve Carmichael and the Assistant US Attorney worked hard to convince the magistrate that I was an “imminent threat to the community”. The judge was very unmoved by their arguments.
The Marshall's were not done with me though. They refused to give me any clothes to wear out, forcing me onto the street in a prison jump suit and orange shoes. Of course, I was arrested before I could reach my lawyer's office on Walnut street. Five police cars and what seemed like twenty cops swarmed all over me, police cars pulled up on the sidewalk.
I was driven back to the FDC where BOP guards checked my release order quickly and then I was driven to my lawyer's office at my request “so I'm not arrested again.” My attorney let me borrow a suit and shoes for the bus ride home.
So today, later this morning in Philadelphia, I go before my sentencing judge Berle Schiller to decide my fate. I hope I will get some answers, but if past is prologue then I will find nothing but more persecution today.
Showing posts with label US Probation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label US Probation. Show all posts
Thursday, March 25, 2010
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.
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.
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