The White Van Outside the Pink Building

After filing for divorce, I was being community-harassed around North Georgia — around my 01 FFL store in Blairsville, Cartersville, and Sugar Valley plus tons of little cities in between and outside. I had also learned that the person I thought was my birth mom was a fraud who remarried for an agreement of harassment and fraud, after she'd "..been dancing around the woods as a teenager pretending to be a witch." That's a legitimate quote from her sister.

My state of mind at the time: filing for divorce, uncovering a child abuse ring, and uncovering voter fraud that challenged American sovereignty. I reported it to the authorities — GBI, FBI, ATF, numerous local departments — one of which was a now-former CLEO, after the City Attorney who was my retained attorney advised me to take the uncovered information from the discovery phase to him. What followed was harassment, following, disappearing schemes, entrapment schemes, spying, and outright fraud.

I was separated — divorced in my mind — from a fraudulent marriage. But my ex was pregnant, the child in gestation. I had questioned the paternity after some of the discovery phase and was adamant about challenging it, but still, the girl might have been mine. I went to the doctor's visits before and after, the ones I was told about. It was really just a scheme between the retained attorneys to drain me — and their other clients — of resources. All of it was one big manipulation game of fraud at the expense of children being abused for others' entertainment, and apparently selling election seats. Allegedly.

I got sick of Georgia. I was RVing around Rome, mostly at Sloppy Floyd Park and I had a great time in Rome, GA and North-West Georgia in General. I was in a distressed state with everything going on with the harassments and uncoverings in the divorce but found peace and distraction while I toured around and met people celebrating the New Year and sleeping on a swing.

I was lured to Florida in some ways — Plant City first and probably hit with fentanyl. A woman with an ear piece would direct me after an event I attended, which you can find more information about in other stories on this blog site. From there I visited Lakeland on my own volition and fell in love with it, the icicle lights in the downtown park that turn on at night were unique. The nightlife was different, the day time was gorgeous, the initial people I met were people with stories and character felt welcoming and set me on a mission to attempt to move there, establish myself there, and live there but now I believe others had their own plans. The scene and the vibe were different. Florida is a whole different world — a lot of investment goes into the parks and they are pretty. Every city is unique in their own way, small businesses have variety where other states sometimes feel cookie cutter and corporatized. Even after contacting the Polk County CLEO I was still harassed and even had a woman show me around and who eventually try to coach me into driving to Georgia with violence on my mind.

So I attempted to move. I was in an RV and couldn't find an affordable, available long-term solution — parks were expensive and not sustainable on my income. I ended up near Winter Haven Park, driving past the FFA lodge on my way into town to buy delta-8, grocery shop, and explore the downtown shops. Eventually they put up a hiring sign and I applied. Hired on the spot, trained to nearly be a property manager — booking reservations, helping with event planning, riding out a hurricane or two.

But I was having my crash-outs. Nearly every other weekend I'd travel to Lakeland and visit the same spots, hoping someone would talk to me again, help me get established. That never happened — but I was harassed at those spots. Filmed. Photographed. It became clear someone was reading my cellphone notes in real time when a comment was made. I have other posts about Winter Haven and the FFA lodge and the harassment tied to the exposure in Georgia. But I wanted to live in Florida.

After the Vevay, Indiana harassment scenario—coordinated by the people I was directed to meet in Floridia who seemingly were in bed with the Blairsville group that was exposed during the divorce discovery—I tried again to Lakeland to meet the people who seemed interested in me. I had a bit of a detour when I was arrested in Montgomery, Alabama, while stopping by Maxwell Air Force Base in an effort to seek help.

I discovered that the Sheriff, now flormer CLEO, and a judge he had conspired in Union County, Georgia—where I was forced to report the human trafficking and voter fraud as advised by the retained attorney at the time and the GBI, to him, the now-former CLEO—had filed real charges under false pretenses: “unlawful conduct on a 911 phone call,” which never occurred. I never called 911 to report what had been discovered in the divorce case, but rather called the Sheriff’s Department, who would then transfer me to either the Sheriff’s line, which went unanswered, or to someone else to whom I would explain the situation. He made up totally fabricated charges on his end that had real consequences and put my life in another form of danger: sitting in Montgomery County Jail. People there tried to convince me to sign my rights away, and eventually the great State of Alabama released me.

After being harassed and possibly poisoned at the home I purchased in Sugar Valley, and learning the depth of fraud that the person who claimed to give birth to me and her remarried husband had committed, I left. I found myself this time in Ruskin, Florida, and loved it. I didn’t get to experience much of St. Petersburg or the areas south of Ruskin because of money and truck issues.

My bicycle was stolen, and before that, I was run over during a night ride while trying to beat the boredom of a 22-foot RV. Despite these weird occurrences in Ruskin, I still enjoyed going to Bahia Beach to watch the sunsets. But that comes with the territory of reporting a child rape ring and a voter fraud scheme that challenged American sovereignty and the illusion of democracy.

I still visited Lakeland nearly every weekend, gas permitting, for a year, hoping to meet someone—sleeping in my car or just driving home. I never had the chance to meet the people who had seemed so welcoming the first time I stopped by, when I was the stranger sitting watching anime on the TV screens, playing pinball, or watching the sometimes intense ping-pong games. I would wander around Lakeland just for a change of scenery and to give someone an opportunity to actually chat with me away from the onlookers and side cameras.

Eventually I made it to Lakeland proper and not commuting to it on weekends. I found an RV park with an open spot, moved in, and started looking for work. I worked at the Lakeland Ice Arena — open to the public — and I was being gangstalked. It didn't last long, but I did get to drive the zamboni a few times. Official. The owners gave me some gear to get back on the ice and slap a puck around. When that fell through, I fell back on website building — something I grew up doing, natural to me, even if I still struggle with the idea of being behind a screen.

I started trying to run my own digital marketing agency, learning a lot, like being careful who you take as a client, networking at business meetings in Lakeland. Nothing ever came through. One meeting, a guy started talking to me rudely, accusing me of overcharging and building his website — except it wasn't me but probably was some filmed skit. I stopped going learning that connections matter more than substance and I was not welcome. I was riding my motorcycle most of the time, and I'd already had the fuel line cut at the RV park where I was staying and being monitored. I had contacted the Sheriff of Polk County about these instances and the issues in North Georgia. I was told to wait for one of his investigators, who never came.

I was going to a co-working space called CoHatch in downtown Lakeland — pretty awesome. Attended some classes, had people try to take pictures of me. I also had a breach on my laptop and figured people were monitoring the shared secured wifi at that location, possibly adversary-in-the-middle phishing and credential stealing via cookies. I was being monitored and followed, setup, for years at that point, and I was aware of it to some extent.

I attempted to live in Florida and make it to Lakeland roughly around the years of 2023-2024. Leaving the RV park in Lakeland most mornings, I'd turn right on Route 33 and head to Lake Crago Recreational Center to work remotely to give a break from CoHatch. It was quiet there. A place to sit with my laptop and try to build something that resembled a business, a life, a reason and means to stay in Florida in effort to find a partner that wanted to actually be with me. The lake was 70 acres, one of five the park borders, with kayak rentals and open space. It was the kind of place that should have felt peaceful.

One day a monitor with his dog — someone tasked with watching the lot, or maybe watching me — asked if I was homeless as I was reading a book in my hammock and listening to nature. I said "no". Not yet anyway. That would come later, after leaving Lakeland. But truthfully, according to some of the programs I'd later learn about, I was already a homeless veteran. I just didn't know it. I was paying what I could, struggling to hold a lease I couldn't afford, in a state I'd been lured to and set up in a variety of ways I was only beginning to understand. The question wasn't an accusation. It was a preview.

At the time, I laughed it off. I had a motorcycle, a laptop, a handful of clients, and a thumb drive to deliver. I had a plan. The monitor saw or knew something I couldn't yet see: a man one bad week away from the definition he'd been avoiding. Lakeland was supposed to be the fresh start. Instead, it became the place where the ground fell out — first in a parking lot behind a pink building, then slowly, in the weeks that followed. I was being forced into poverty, into homelessness by community harrassment organizers associatied with the North Georgia gang whom had been making it increasingly difficult to earn income because I reported a child rape and voter fraud ring where children were being groomed and sold inside of a public school.

One of my first clients was Sweet Cup Cafe — the bright pink building at 1401 Lakeland Hills Blvd. I cold-approached the owner and had her sold on the website and what I could do. I ate there a handful of times, got their brews. It was a unique little spot, and I was so happy to grab the domain https://sweetcup.cafe for them. We had an agreement for a year. Unfortunately, during all the communication I was texting the owner — meaning whoever was monitoring me was in on the scheme and knew my plans too.

The day I finished the project, I was handing over the physical copies of the website — a unique process for me, because most agencies hold onto the code like it's property. I hand it over so the owner can go with another agency, or a family member, and still have the code they paid for. So many people ruined relationships and potential relationships. People trying to insert themselves as friends or girlfriends, only to join in on the harassment, because I had to report a child rape and voter fraud ring exposed during the discovery phase of a divorce in Georgia in organized fashion.

A note on Havana Syndrome and directed energy

"Havana Syndrome" is the informal name given to a cluster of neurological symptoms first reported by U.S. and Canadian diplomats stationed in Cuba beginning in 2016. Patients described a localized sound or pressure at the onset, followed by vertigo, balance problems, cognitive issues, headaches, and vision or hearing disturbances that persisted for months [1]. The cause remains officially unresolved. A 2023 U.S. intelligence assessment called a foreign adversary "very unlikely," and the Office of the Director of National Intelligence has leaned toward mass psychogenic illness as the most probable explanation [2] [1].

But that conclusion is contested. In March 2026, 60 Minutes reported that undercover DHS agents had obtained a suspected Russian-made pulsed microwave device through a criminal network — a miniaturized directed-energy weapon designed to be concealed and fired from a distance. The broadcast cited classified security footage of Americans suddenly grabbing their heads or collapsing, and researchers described pulsed microwave signals capable of stimulating electrically active brain tissue [3] [4]. A military medical review of directed-energy exposure cases documented a pattern of balance deficits, abnormal eye movements, and vestibular impairment in the majority of individuals studied [5]. And in June 2026, the outgoing Director of National Intelligence rescinded the Biden-era assessments that had downplayed foreign involvement, citing "ethically flawed" analysis and selectively excluded evidence [6].

That day I rode my motorcycle with my laptop in the side satchel and a thumb drive to hand over to Sweet Cup Cafe — the website I built, with the AIO and SEO work so people could browse their menu and find them when searching for any service they provided "near me." Watching the traffic scale from both digital and foot traffic was great. That was a happy day.

When I arrived, I pulled into the parking lot at the back of the building. I recall a white van with a couple of people standing around it, and the sliding door partly ajar. The moment I went to push down the kickstand — immediate loss of balance and consciousness. Hard to explain outside of that: my eyes were open, and I recall processing falling to the ground with the bike on top of me. I came to quickly, got the bike off, brushed myself off, embarrassed. No idea if the Sweet Cup Cafe owner saw me. No idea if there was a camera. She was expecting me. It was supposed to be a cause for celebration.

I am not a doctor. I am not diagnosing myself. But I know what happened outside that pink building: I was fine, sober, standing over my motorcycle and in the motion of putting the kickstand down, and then my balance and consciousness left me in the same instant. I remember the white van. I remember the people standing around it, looking toward me. If I hadn't been in such a rush to hand over that thumb drive, embarassed, and just wanting to get to my scheduled meeting with Sweet Cup Cafe, I would have walked over and read their behavior. I didn't. I got up, brushed myself off, and went inside. That's the part I replay.

It came and went. The next few days I was beyond exhausted. I became a recluse, isolated. Maybe two days straight I just laid on the bed of my RV. Memory issues that lasted long after. Another harassment in Polk County, Lakeland, after reporting abused children, human trafficking, and voter fraud.

I've heard the term Havana Syndrome. Directed energy. Sonic weapons. I don't know what hit me outside that pink building. I know what I saw: a white van, people standing around it, a door ajar, and then my balance and my consciousness leaving me in the same instant. I know the timing.

Time since authorities were first notified

Authorities were first notified in December 2020 and again in January 2021 — of the criminal behavior, the human trafficking, and the treason.

Live counter, measured against your device's current date and time. If the reporting dates above are approximate, treat the figure as a floor, not a precise duration.