|My Experience of Gang Stalking by Law
Enforcement in South Florida
Saturday, October 27th, 2018 08:17
The primary purpose of this web site is to describe the incidents of police abuse of power and authority to stalk me for nearly ten years in Broward County, FL. I also want it to be the true story in case the people harassing me decide to start trouble for me here in Kissimmee. I want nothing more than to be left alone. I’m a very honest and decent person with a wonderful partner. We do not do drugs, have any desire to do so nor am I some kind of hacker just because I prefer to use Ubuntu GNOME Linux over Windows 10 on my cheap HP-Notebook.
In July, I, Michael, moved to Kissimmee, FL, with my partner John. It was my hope that the harassment would end, but for the last week I have had to call Verizon, because I was only able to use my brand new moto Z3 play with wifi wherever I could get it. They did some troubleshooting and it seems ok now, however, at the same time I had to reinstall my operating system several times, because it was being hacked upon install. I was not able to use wifi, the signal kept dropping, whether I was using Windows or Linux. I typically maintain a dual boot system, as I prefer Ubuntu Linux over Windows 10.
Also, I want to make it clear that I do not hate police or law enforcement. Any of that sentiment comes from the people who harmed me the most, and they were law enforcement. I feel no regret in loathing them.
Yesterday, it apparently stopped as I was able to reinstall my operating system without any interference.
Ormond police officer suspended after unauthorized database checks
Florida police chief pleads guilty to pressuring cops to frame black suspects
Cop and State Attorney Jailed After Fellow Cops Caught them Raping a Baby and Filming It
Florida police used warrantless 'Stingray' surveillance over 1,800 times
Above are just a random sample of the type of harassment I received by the police in Fort Lauderdale. There are endless articles about gang stalking by police on the internet. It amazes me how stupid American’s are about the way in which police abuse power and authority, accessing databases without any reasonable purpose to harass people they do not like or have some grudge against. I'm sure most people don't experience things like this, but I'm also sure many people are stalked and don't even know it.
In 2007, the beginning of a decades long stalking of me by local police, I was invited to a friend’s house for a get together. As I entered Roger Patrick Cowart’s apartment in Oakland Park, I noticed he was passed out on his desk. I did not know the other five people, but I began to talk with them. I was standing off to the side, by myself, while the person who went by Michael Wallace, began to smoke a large meth pipe and passed it around his friends. One of the five came over to me and slipped his hand down the back of my pants and stuck his finger on my anus. It immediately burned like hell.
Within 10-15 minutes I was walked into Patrick’s bedroom, de-clothed and laid on the bed. Michael Wallace and one of the other five stood over me with one foot each on both of my shoulders. I broke out into a profuse sweat and the room was spinning. One of the people at the foot of the bed said, “this is going to burn like hell.” I was totally unable to move, but before I passed out I felt the most intense pain I’ve ever felt. It felt like they were shoving a football up my ass. Just before I passed out completely, I noticed Patrick walk into the room and right back out laughing. He knew these people.
I woke up alone, naked on the bed. I dressed myself and went home. I knew there was something wrong with my anus, I was in pain. I thought about going to the hospital, but I was too embarrassed. I took a few days off work, brushed it off and never spoke about it to any of my friends or family until 2013. In 2014, upon a visit from Laurent, he told me the reason I lost my job is because BSO filled HR’s head with untruths about my condition, viral meningitis, was really drug abuse, even though my stay in the hospital was well documented.
I met Patrick through my closest friend, Steven Honzik. Apparently they had become friends in prison. Both of them went to prison for dealing drugs, mainly meth.
6 months or so prior to this, I was traveling south on I-95 in the HOV lane at 70mph when a homeless man jumped right in front of me. I had less then a second to respond. Needless to say his head smashed into my windshield. I was in complete shock, during which time I called my Friend and ex, William to come get me. Over the course of the next three months, I lived in complete hell, waking up every hour seeing his head smash into my windshield and blood flooding my vision. It was terrifying.
One night I called my mother in Archer, FL, who was a nurse at the Gainesville, VA. I remember sobbing and snot running down my face, I could hardly breathe as I told her I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but I did not feel like myself and all I could think about was committing suicide. She came to Miami to visit me. She told me I had PTSD and began to guide me as to what to do about it.
Being gang raped so brutally 6 or 7 months later left me in a haze that still hasn’t completely lifted.
My mom helped me get a truck and an apartment. On my birthday in 2006, I got a job working for Boca Dock and Seawall building docks in Broward and Palm Beach County. I loved the job, but it did not pay enough. Few months later I ran into an old friend, Laurent. He said he was working at the City of Lauderdale Lakes as the Network Administrator and knew of a job opening. It paid more and had benefits. I started working there in January 2007, a few months before the gang rape.
In 2008, I developed and anal fistual and went to see my doctor who put me on a heavy dose of antibiotics. It was brutally painful, but the antibiotics seemed to work.
In May of 2009, I developed a severe case of viral meningitis. Many years later I learned there was a major outbreak in South Beach. One tourist from France died from the virus. It took a long time to recover. It was the closest to death I had ever reached. I needed a lot of time off work and eventually requested FMLA from HR. She was a difficult person to deal with. One day I came in and could not perform. I left a message; cannot remember what it was, but it set off a shit storm. They closed City Hall, told everyone to go home. Apparently, they believed I was going to go postal and return with a gun and shoot people. Nothing could have been further from the truth. I went home, took a klonipin, as prescribed by my doctor for PTSD and went to bed.
Not long after, I found myself surrounded by all of HR, the FLPD and BSO officers. They asked me a few questions and determined I was to be Baker Acted. BSO had a little fight with FLPD. They did not want to Baker Act me, but FLPD was adamant...they lifted me naked out of my bed and hauled me to Broward General. By the time I got there I raging with anger. FLPD claimed I was attempting suicide with my Klonipin. This was the first of several Baker Acts they put me through, most as a form of harassment making the most outrageous and untrue statements on the involuntary examination form.
I tried to stay in Ft. Lauderdale as long as I could, cashing in all of my savings in hopes of finding another job. In December of 2009, I was forced to move back to my Florida home in Archer where my mother was slowly dying from Ovarian Cancer. I immediately began therapy from my PTSD with Dr. Jefferey Gedney. My mother introduced me to him; he did pro bono work at the VA for vets with PTSD.
I also hired a lawyer to file my claim for Social Security Disability. It would take almost 10 or 11 months. I think it was in October when my lawyer informed me that my claim was accepted. I’ve been on Disability ever since.
In Archer there were several other major events, one was at the Parliament House in Orlando, the second was a major grand mal seizure that resulted in a four day stay at Shand’s Hospital in Gainesville. The worst and most damaging to me was an emergency medical anal fistula surgery. I entered the ER with a fever of 103°. I was coherent enough to sign the release for surgery. Then I was transferred to the VA through the tunnel that connects Shand’s to the VA. I knew that tunnel well, because I walked through several times with my mother while she was at work. I don’t know what happened there, but I am 100% certain I was taken to the VA. Later, in my description of military surveillance and general anesthesia, it might make more sense.
In November of 2010, I decided to move back to Ft. Lauderdale. I needed a cheap place to live and sub-letted a small efficiency from Patrick Cowart at 110 NW 20th Ave. Even though he was there and walked into the room, he did not participate and he may not have realized I was about to pass out completely within seconds of him walking out the door.
In hindsight it was the worst decision I ever made in my life.
On December 22nd, 2010 The FLPD showed up at my door for a wellness check after I overheated on the phone with Social Security. I cannot remember what I said, I just fly off the handle when people are difficult to deal with. Having 70% binaural hearing loss, speaking on the telephone is often difficult or impossible especially with women and even more so with latinas...I get so mad. I have gotten so mad before I threw my phone across the room. That’s how I destroyed my first iPhone. I hate them to this day.
I don’t remember much between that day and the 18th of January 2011 when I woke up on the floor naked in a fetal position with blood, sticky dried blood in a puddle that seemed to nearly reach my waist. I woke up and cleaned up the blood, but I was so groggy I bandaged my head and crawled back into bed. This is the scar on the back of my head as of today...
Several things stand out, and are very vivid memories. One afternoon while on Manhunt.net, I was approached by email by a person whose profile picture was of a tall dark haired guy around my age with a dark blue or black t-shirt that said in white capital letters, POLICE. He said his name was Mike and we had a lengthy get-to-know ya sort of exchange that he wanted to meet me at my apartment. The next day, after second thought I emailed him and declined to meet him. Years later I learned about the fake profiles on gay male sex sites by drug detectives who do nothing more than stir up trouble, engaging in conversation that includes a sexual encounter involving meth. They particularly focus on guys with HIV who may or may not be on Disability. They consider us “expendable.” I was later told that I was one of these “expendable” people.
There were five other incidents I remember over that month’s time. Once, while lying in bed three or four people entered through the door that connected to Patrick’s apartment. Just as I woke up to see them someone was sticking a hypodermic needle into the side of my calf. I went out nearly immediately. I have no idea what happened after that, but I do know from witnessing the federal surveillance of one of these people that I was sedated and sexually assaulted. He grabbed me by my legs and pulled over the end of the foot board and raped me. That memory is now seared into my brain.
The other time, also a memory of surveillance of the incident, I was taken outside into the pool area and someone, a short guy with red hair and a red goatee, waved his hand in front of my face and I fell backwards immediately. They then carried me outside into the parking lot. While being carried out I woke up to see at least to uniformed FLPD officers standing aside just watching. Once I reached the outside fence I went out completely. I also have a memory of waking up in the back of some sort of people mover. It had two door that opened outward. I saw a tree and a car and an empty parking lot, so I assume it was late at night or early in the morning. Since then I’ve learned that 4am is particularly dangerous time for me.
The second incident is when I woke up while being moved; it was just before entering a small room with a metal bed and a small metal desk opposite the bed. After Oct. 2nd, 2014, I’m sure it was either FLPD or Broward County Jail to perform what they call a decomposition of my connection, which involves several hours of general anesthesia.
Third and fourth are nearly the same...I woke up feeling the need to have a bowel movement. One time in the shower while washing a small ball feel out of my behind and rolled down the drain. Honest to God...It scared the hell out of me. Feeling the need to sleep I returned to bed and fell asleep.
The other similar incident, I awoke feeling the need to have a bowel movement, I sat on the toilet as normal and passed what felt like a bowel movement, however, when I stood up and looked into the bowl I saw a larger ball that resembled a small dog toy. I was so unsure if it was real or some lucid dream that picked up and dropped it back into the toilet and by habit flushed it down the drain. I was groggy as hell, and to assure myself it was no dream I started knocking on the walls and on every surface that was hard. This was no dream, however, again I was so groggy all I wanted to do was crawl back into bed and go to sleep.
This person was most likely a former drug detective, a present drug detective or some special agent, otherwise there would be no federal surveillance of what happened. I was told the balls were filled with crystal meth and the intent was for me to end up in the hospital and be charged with a drug possession. It still makes no sense to me. Ever since that time I have been followed, harassed and coerced into using drugs so someone could enter my house if I left the door unlocked and charged me with possession. All of this was to get me to some place where I could have my connection “decomposed” as they say.
Lastly, after all of that, although it was more than a year later, after checking my bank statements from that time I noticed two withdrawals from my account, each for $600.00. I could not have possibly made the withdrawals. These are the only memories I have of that three and half weeks of heavy sedation. Someone took my bank card from my desk drawer and I’m certain it was used to buy drugs.
It's also very important to say that it was at this time when I met Jason Richard Hunt for a sexual experience. Not long after I arrived at his apartment there was a loud snap in my head and I blacked out. This last part of this web site will be dedicated to the circumstance of his death. It was determined to be a suicide, but after you see the information I was able to get...you might actually believe he was murdered too.
The conversation I hear almost always wakes me up every single day, except for now here in Kissimmee, FL. However, they still blast me so hard at times all I can do is take sleeping pills and drink alcohol to get through it. It feels like my whole body is vibrating and the sound is so obnoxiously loud and the conversation is so hostile. This is to promote my suicide by stressing me out. The problem with that is I grew up with this. My first lucid dream was at 2 or 3 years old. At the time, out of a dark, so very dark place, a white gloved hand descended over me ever so slowly as if to snatch me up. It scared the living shit out of me. Other times I was told I had ESP, this was around 4th grade and it was to help me understand why I had premonitions and some extraordinary sense of what was right around the corner. I grew up this way. At 12 years of age, I had a dream where I was dressed in dress blues walking down the steps of some building and was shot in the chest. I remember reaching into my coat and feeling the warm blood gushing out of my chest. This dream coincided with my first sexual experience. It just so happened that it was my best friend David. Also at the same time my mother was going through the interview process to work at the Wade Park VA in Cleveland, OH.
I’ll explain what I’ve learned about hearing this ongoing conversation on the page about Targeted Individuals. It seems, after this month long incident I got a heavy dose of both. The intent was to coerce me into committing suicide.
I’ve since learned that I was kept sedated for 3 and half weeks, and sexually assaulted. Apparently I woke up several times and fought like hell.
Again, more details about general anesthesia, sedation (for memory loss) and the type of people the FBI coordinates with local authorities to perform this procedure. If you research any claims by targeted individuals, many of them claim to have their apartments broken into and or be sexually assaulted. These people are likely ex cons who have been tagged with either some tracer or taggant material which is why there is surveillance about what happened to me. They need a support system to enter a person’s apartment while they are asleep in order to sedate them before being moved to a place where they can be anesthetized.
Immediately after this episode I decided to investigate on my own what happened to me and who was responsible. I did not go to the police as I knew they were involved and did not want them to know my intentions. When Patrick’s friend Miguel, who was living in a half way house at the time of Davie Blvd., just south of NW 9th Ave. (Powerline) offered to get a two bedroom with me, I jumped on it. But I recall asking him if he knew anything about what happened. His body language was clear as a bell as his eyes shifted toward the ground quickly and right back to mine, I knew he was lying when he declared he knew nothing.
This is what I looked like not too long afterward. It shocks me. I'm 5'10" and a fairly solid 222lbs. now. It was taken in Richie's Condo. They know who Richie is. He's part of the protected group of elderly guys who can purchase large amounts of meth and use it to lure the younger naive guys, who end up lost on a freight train to hell from the abuse of that insipid drug. Local Law enforcement knows them all and despite my turning them all in, nothing ever happened. I just got harassed even worse.
Sometime around February, we found a place: 612 NE 15th St #3. I barely knew Miguel, but after a few weeks he began to deal meth. With all my wits I dove into the culture and all along the way was collecting information, looking for patterns and trends. When I knew it was spiraling out of control, I moved at the drop of a hat and cut myself off from the entire scene. I changed my number and removed myself from the gay culture in Fort Lauderdale. I moved alone to 1243 NE 12th Ave. Apt B, I think.
Nearly everyone who entered that apartment to buy drugs from Miguel was eventually arrested by BSO or Wilton Manors, including one of the dearest people to me, Tommy. We were not on speaking terms at that time and I had no clue he was using and buying from Miguel.
I have learned all of this involved the State Police, FLPD, The FBI and Homeland Security in one way or another.
In addition, regarding the gang rape, the person responsible has never connected what happened in the living room with what took place in the bedroom where the rape occurred.
Page 2...General Discussion of PTSD, my results vs. the Department of Defense