July 7, 2025
Dear Geert—
These missives trying to explain what’s happening in the New World to friends in the Old World become more and more like describing the contours of a Klein bottle, the higher dimensional version of the better known Möbius strip. Like the Möbius strip, the Klein bottle, which can only exist in four dimensions, is distinguished by its continuous surface, it has no inside and no outside. Most socio-politico-economic analyses are predicated on stripping away the surface to reveal the “real” forms of power (viz Karl Marx’s concepts of base and superstructure) but this moment in America feels like it’s all surface with no underlying anatomy. As I mentioned last month, the reigning sensibility of Trump 2.0 is that “they’re not happy until we’re not happy,” which is pure continuous surface reactivity, a Klein bottle of resentment and cruelty.
All over the Internet you find a quote that seems to sum up our moment perfectly: “There are decades where nothing happens; and there are weeks where decades happen.” That this is attributed to V.I. Lenin, even though he never said it, makes the sentiment even more perfectly suited for the feels here in Los Angeles. In the month since my last missive, it’s truly felt like decades have passed. We’ve had an influx of masked, heavily armed men who claim to be United States Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents. I write claim, because they arrive in unmarked cars, refuse to show ID or warrants, and wear—ludicrously in an urban setting—camo everything. They are supposed to be targeting “illegals with criminal records,” but what they are really doing follows the fascist playbook of targeting a minority, demanding their papers on the street, and taking them away without due process.
This egregious lawlessness prompted righteous demonstrations against these secret policemen. The demonstrations in turn led to some social disorder, including vandalism, but less that my city sees after sports teams win national championships. Nonetheless, that whiff of violence was what the Trump administration was hoping for. In its immediate aftermath, the President of the United States went against the wishes of both the mayor and the Governor to deploy the state’s National Guard to Los Angeles’ downtown, and then, for the first time in decades, added a contingent of active-duty military, in this case the Marines. Neither the 700 Marines nor the 4,000 guardsmen have had much to do, and the later weren’t even properly provisioned with “hots and cots”—meaning meals and adequate living arrangements. But it didn’t matter because in the US we are living through a politics that’s based on optics not ideology, much less competency.
The ICE agents may fear being doxed, but their masking serves to create a terrifying image. The Marines in Downtown Los Angeles are mirroring the troops who just marched through Washington on Trump’s birthday (a martial display the President had been chafing for since seeing one in France during his first administration). Yet the depravity of the deportations and the military’s peacetime deployment in an American city are just floating turds in the continuing flooding of the zone with shit, and the weeks-where-decades-happen just keep happening.
The raids go on, with ICE agents in armored vehicles and on horseback. The detentions are happening all around us in Southern California (my local car wash was raided and two workers were disappeared just last week) and Angelenos continue to demonstrate against them. I see more and more “Sin Helio—Without ICE” bilingual tee shirts, but it’s hard to keep focused on those atrocities, with so much else going on at the same time. After all, in the past month, as part of our bipartisan support for the Benjamin Netanyahu regime, the US started and then abruptly ended a conflict with Iran. Just twelve days later, the worst legislative act of my lifetime was enacted in record time.

I am no economist, so the subtleties of the deceptions and degradations of the “The One Big Beautiful Bill Act” escape me. But I can understand that the bill, passed by obedient Republican partisans with the narrowest of margins, and then signed into law – on America’s Independence Day no less—by a President who won the office by a scant one and half percent of the popular vote, fundamentally shifts the burden of paying for America’s needs from the rich to the not-at-all-rich, and siphons one trillion dollars from the poor to make sure that billionaires can have ever more lavish destination weddings and corporations can escape both taxation and regulation. This isn’t populism, but somehow it floats, turd-like, along the surface of the MAGA zone. Those on the outside of that Klein bottle, which of course has no outside, are made even more unhappy, and so the surface remains unbroken.
This sense of continuous surface is an outgrowth of Trump’s focus on optics. To work through the politics of the moment via optics is not to ignore the pain of families being sundered, children being denied medical services both here and abroad, and the daily humiliations of being outside the racial and gendered dynamics of the MAGA nation. But we can’t stick with the “reality-based community” to grok our situation, a community that has been losing ground since the GW Bush administration. It’s not so much “truthiness” anymore, than it is the realization that we’re now denizens of a multiverse in which truth never existed in the first place. The United States has become a Klein bottle of unverifiability in four dimensions of pure, continuous surface.
One of the only sure ways to gain relief from this Klein bottle is to harness the power of art. So it was on Independence Day, we went to see a 50th anniversary screening of Robert Altman’s masterpiece of Americana, Nashville. Even before the film was released, the New Yorker’s film critic, Pauline Kael, understood just how powerfully effective and affecting were Nashville’s intersecting storylines, overlapping dialogue and seamless transitions between scripted and improvised action: “Altman’s art, like Fred Astaire’s, is the great American art of making the impossible look easy.” Filmed and set just before the nation’s Bicentennial, Altman uses Southern country musicians in the Grand Ole Opry as a Greek chorus to comment on a nation still reeling from the political scandals of Watergate and the moral rot of Vietnam.
The parallels with the United State just before its 250th anniversary are striking. The wannabes who are certain, just certain, that fame and fortune are only one record deal away no matter if they have talent or not set the emotional tone for 21st century influencer culture. The split between Tennessee’s down home sensibilities and the urban sophistication of visitors from Los Angeles has been sharpened to a lethal edge by endless culture wars. There’s even a long-shot, outsider Presidential candidate storming the citadels of power. That the specter of assassination floats above all the actions and interaction, makes Nashville that much more powerful today, after Donald J. Trump survived not one but two attempts on his life in his run to recapture power. That he survived being shot, and rose to his feet, pumping his fist, yelling “fight, fight, fight” as he was being dragged away from the line of fire gave both the candidate and his supporters a sense of divine mission and heroic invincibility. His survival was real, but the image he created was also part of an optic that had been developing that was entirely imaginary.
From the very start, MAGA both online and IRL promulgated memes of Trump as an invincible, muscular, God Emperor. In chats, on Facebook, printed on towels and flags, held up at rallies, Trump is a caricature of alpha male manliness. This soon-to-be-octogenarian golfer has been portrayed as a ‘roided-out hero from an 80s movie: his abs are ripped, his biceps bulging, his guns blazing. When he made his first, pathetic foray into the world of crypto grifting, it was with a series of NFTs of himself in various guises from superhero to astronaut, cowboy to race car driver. What was rarely mentioned was that the designs for the cards were drawn from an aborted run of NFTs commissioned by and portraying Sylvester Stallone. The Trump cards were, therefore, imaginaries of an aging reality television star cosplaying an aging action film star cosplaying his own youthful, more powerful, self. In the Klein bottle we call the USA, the optics of power are simultaneous with power itself, a continuous surface. Trump is no topologist, but he understands the new terrain as he ramps up his culture wars. Asked the difference between his first term and the second, the most vindictive president in American history replied “I was the hunted, and now I’m the hunter.” The optics and the actions will only get worse before they get better.
Best—
Peter
(previous letters from Peter Lunenfeld can be found here: https://networkcultures.org/blog/author/peterlunenfeld/)