GT1-Blog

So, I have been reading much poetry of late, Whitman, Poe, Plath, Ginsberg, and their kindred spirits. At the same time, I have been witnessing the melodrama unfolding in our once-great country, and I felt compelled to write the following in the spirit of these poets. Our nation stands in peril, not from enemies without, but from those within. A Passage for a Republic Unraveling By Brian Wilson I sing not of triumphs, not of the sea-wind nor the plow, not of the railways stretching across the prairie, nor of the bridges binding one shore to another, but of a nation folding inward, a republic gnawing its own bones. O America, I address you you who once declared liberty on parchment, you who thundered with voices of orators, you who bent iron for freedom’s sake, who sent your sons into fields of battle with liberty as a banner. Now you stand trembling, your knees buckling beneath your own weight. The halls of Congress echo not with reason, but with the clamor of children fighting over sc...

How Fascism Starts: Seduce the Foolish - Muzzle the Intelligent. By Brian Wilson Fascism doesn’t storm the front door with a battering ram. It slips in like an unwanted house guest through a side window, quiet at first, polite even. It offers a few promises, a few flattering slogans, soft enough to sound like common sense. The weak-hearted welcome it, mistaking intrusion for patriotism. They’re told history has chosen them, that their anger is noble, that resentment is a virtue. That’s the bait, and the foolish swallow it whole. Once inside, it festers like a lingering pestilence. Fascism turns on the mind. It mocks thoughtfulness, starves curiosity, and smothers learning. Books become suspect, teachers branded disloyal, free thought blasphemous, dissent recast as heresy. The bright lights of reason dim until only the harsh neon glow of its own propaganda machine washes over the public at large. Mussolini played the buffoon before he played the tyrant. He strutted, joked, promised Ital...

  The Genius of Bill Ward: Black Sabbath’s Beating Heart By Brian Wilson, a lifelong fan Black Sabbath never needed polish. They needed weight, danger, and a sound that could knock you flat and then stomp you into the floorboards. Behind all that doom and thunder was Bill Ward, a quiet English bloke from Aston who, without fanfare, changed the way rock drumming could feel. Ward doesn’t just keep time, he stretches it, bends it, makes it breathe. Spin up War Pigs and listen to the fills; they swing with a looseness that almost shouldn’t work, but somehow, miraculously, it does. His style is part jazz club, part jackhammer: a hint of Buddy Rich in one hand, the clanging machinery of Birmingham in the other. That’s the heartbeat that made Sabbath sound alive, almost drunkenly alive. What separates him from the endless line of metal drummers who came after? Taste. Ward never crowded the riffs, never marched like a metronome. He serves the music. Every Sabbath song felt like its own liv...

  Bloodsport Journalism: Why Posting Charlie Kirk’s Murder Is Civilizational Rot By Brian Wilson If you are posting video’s of the murder of Charlie Kirk as if it were a victory lap, as if a human life was nothing more than digital fodder, then shame on you. You are a boil on the hindquarter of humanity, and your digital footprint should be lanced and cauterized toot sweet. This man was a human being. That simple fact should be enough. He had a pulse, a laugh, a voice, people who cared for him. He wasn’t just a headline, not just a target for strangers to mock online. He had a family. A wife. Children. People who will carry his absence like a stone in their chest for the rest of their lives. Sadly, the day will come when those innocent children type their father’s name into Google. What will they see? Not a man remembered with dignity, but their fathers gruesome death paraded like a trophy. They’ll find sick memes. Hateful speech. Rhetoric so vile it reduces a human life to politic...

  The Kulling of Kimmel and the New Cold War of Comedy By Brian Wilson Jimmy Kimmel is gone. Not because he ran out of jokes, though many would argue he did years ago, but because he said the wrong thing in the wrong place at the wrong time. In 2025 America, that’s all it takes. One crack in the wrong direction and the trapdoor opens. Welcome to the new Cold War. Only instead of nuclear silos and missile counts, we’re measuring which late-night host survives the week without being dragged into a digital gulag. Let’s get one thing out of the way. I think Kimmel is a hack. A tool. A comedian who turned into the human equivalent of a Prius with a broken laugh track. But his cancellation doesn’t sit right. Not because I want to defend him, God no, but because the way he was iced should terrify anyone who still thinks the First Amendment is more than a relic printed on a museum wall next to the Declaration of Independence. Look at Colbert. He took his swings too. At first, when he mocke...

 When News Forgot to report the News By Brian Wilson The news cycle is broken. Not cracked, shattered, splintered, it's bleeding out. Tonight’s headlines are not about the eradication of a virus that has killed more than 40 million people worldwide since the 1980s. No, the feeds are clogged with squabbles, press-room tantrums, and which politician’s diary entry leaked on X. We’ve mistaken gossip for reporting. We’ve traded the front page for the group chat. Meanwhile, scientists have pulled off something the world has not seen since the eradication of Polio. A CRISPR-based therapy slices HIV out of infected cells. Gone. Deported, Carved from DNA like a headline that threatens the narrative. Early data shows the virus doesn’t return. For the first time in decades, a treatment doesn’t just suppress, it erases. Take a second to take this in, put down your phones and think about it. Imagine what this means, HIV could be gone from the face of the earth. No more endless medication regime...

  The Machinery of Silence By Brian Wilson Government overreach never arrives jackboots and Blitzkriegs. It drifts in quietly, wrapped in the language of safety and order, for the “betterment of the people” until before you know it, the machinery is built. Once in place, that machinery never stops. It must be fed, and right now it is chewing through opposition voices, grinding them down so power can stand alone. Here is the tension I live with. I voted for Trump. I did it because the alternative looked like collapse, a country stripped bare by reckless borders and hollow slogans. I told myself, better a flawed protector than no protection at all. But what I see now is a weapon turned inward. The very man I chose to hold the line is drawing it tighter, using silence as his shield and obedience as his demand. Opposition no longer looks like disagreement, it is treated as betrayal. Criticism is branded as a lie, and once words are poisoned, the punishments are easy to justify. A socie...