Seeing Through Frames

Before I begin, I want to offer something about language.

When I say frame, what I mean is a particular way of seeing—an angle, a perspective, a lens. A frame is not truth, it’s a structure through which we view something that’s happening out in the world. Using the word frame already brings in a bit of humility—it creates a little distance between how I’m seeing and who I am. It lets me say: this is one way of looking.

And that’s powerful. Because once you see you’re working with frames, you can hold them more lightly. You can try on others. You can swap them out. You can go, Oh wow, I’ve been wearing yellow-tinted glasses my whole life—I wonder what blue looks like?

All of us are walking around with these colored lenses. The tint comes from our past, our upbringing, our karma, our beliefs. And that tint shapes how we see reality. Acknowledging this doesn’t weaken our view—it actually makes conversation possible. Because then we can say: here’s the frame I’m seeing through. What’s yours? And from there, we can engage—without needing to annihilate each other over difference.

So the frame I want to offer you here is this: Trump is a martial artist.

The Freeze That Started It All

My journey with martial arts was seeded seven years ago.

Before that, I had lived a goody-good life. Never gotten into a fight. Deathly afraid of conflict—whether on the street or even in close friendships. A big people pleaser to the core.

And then one night, I was sitting on the New York subway with my then-girlfriend. Across from us, a drunk guy started intimidating a woman who was sitting alone. And I froze. My entire body locked up.

I remember thinking: If that woman was my girlfriend, what would I do?

And then deeper than that: Why does she have to be my girlfriend for me to care? Why can’t I speak up, do something, move? Why am I freezing?

I was that wussy New York liberal boy. Raised to be nice. Socialized to defer. No training in what to do with conflict, confrontation, or aggression. That moment didn’t just scare me—it revealed a void.

The Hunger for the Real Thing

That seed took time to grow. Eventually, it carried me to David Deida’s last live workshop, with his protégé, John Wineland, leading a group of us through what I now call “symbolic” martial arts. Screaming, shoving, jostling—men’s work-style embodiment.

And I remember standing there thinking: Why the fuck am I getting martial training from someone who clearly hasn’t trained deeply themselves?

That thought has returned to me again and again, in various men’s circles and workshops—whenever the so-called martial comes up, but feels more like a simulation than the real thing.

And I say that while holding deep respect for the men doing this work. But there’s a part of me that’s a purist. I needed the source. Not the symbol.

So I trained in actual dojos.

Sacred Violence: The Real Training Begins

It’s been over three years now of fairly consistent Muay Thai, including a two-week immersion in Thailand. I’ve dipped into Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. I’ve tasted Kalaripayattu, the Indian martial art.

And one of my favorite drills in Muay Thai is trading body kicks.

You and a brother stand across from each other, and you take turns delivering body kicks—unblocked. The invitation is simple: don’t defend. Just feel the strike. Eat the kick.

As the drill progresses, the kicks naturally escalate. Harder. Then harder still. You’re feeling each other out. Sussing each other’s capacity. And in that space—there’s no posturing, no pretending. Just impact.

It’s a thrill. With every strike, I feel weakness shaking out of my body. The vibration of the blow reverberates through me. It doesn’t just toughen me—it reminds me. Of my own strength. Of my warrior nature.

To a bystander, it might look violent—like we’re attacking each other. But what’s actually happening is deep connection. Trust. Joy. Brotherhood.

And even if you’ve never trained in martial arts, maybe you’ve touched this frequency. Maybe in ecstatic dance, when you screamed with someone in catharsis. Or in ceremony. Or during sex. That raw, alive place where bodies collide and something sacred emerges.

Sometimes, that’s what it takes to wake up. To come online. To remember what you’re here for.

Trump Moves Like a Fighter

The frame I’m offering here is this: Trump is a martial artist.

It’s quite evident in his astrology—Mars on the rising, if I remember right. Maybe some of my astrology friends can offer more on that. But even if you don’t speak astrology, just watch how he moves. There’s rhythm, timing, strikes, and—just like in martial arts—there are feints. Fake-outs. Moves that aren’t meant to land, but to draw something out of the opponent. He provokes to wake things up. He absorbs hits. He uses chaos. It’s calculated.

And the way he engages with the world—especially with our allies—makes sense through that lens.

He’s not trying to placate anyone. He’s trying to wake them the fuck up. He wants each nation to remember who they are.

Many of America’s allies in the West have drifted into this visionless, bloated, bureaucratic blobbyness. They’ve lost their sense of identity, of purpose. What passes for policy is often just virtue signaling on top of corruption.

There’s a global pattern here: extract high taxes, funnel the money into vague do-gooder programs like climate justice or diversity initiatives, then siphon the cash off two or three layers deep where nobody can trace the impact. NGOs and nonprofits are the perfect front for this kind of slow-drip corruption.

Trump sees that. And he’s at war with it. But it’s not a physical war—it’s an economic war.

Economic Martial Arts

Trump’s primary weapon isn’t the military—it’s leverage.

Reciprocal tariffs, for instance, are not acts of aggression. They’re tactical strikes. They create pressure. They force accountability.

Most of these nations already have huge tariffs on American goods, which ends up hurting their own citizens. And when Trump matches those tariffs, it puts heat on corrupt governments to stop hiding behind bureaucracy and actually serve their people.

Is America corrupt? Yes. Deeply.

But compared to places like India, Colombia, or China—our corruption is often more visible, more checkable, more up for debate. In many nations, the rot runs deeper. And sometimes, the only thing that makes those governments take responsibility is economic pain.

That’s martial artistry.

Canada Is Waking Up

Take Canada.

Nationalism is reawakening there. Politicians are actually thinking about what it means to serve Canada. That’s a good thing. It’s good for Canadians, and it’s good for us.

Trump’s jabs—like calling Canada the 51st state—weren’t throwaway lines. They were placed with intention. Designed to provoke. To wake up.

Because sometimes, you need an enemy to find your edge. You need a strike to remember your stance. That’s dojo logic.

The Blob and the Sovereign

The broader enemy here isn’t just corrupt politicians. It’s the ideological blob.

This shapeless, globalist sameness that’s taken hold of many modern democracies. Where people have become interchangeable—slogans over substance, identity over individuality. Everyone trying to look different but think the same. The politics of performance, with zero soul.

This is mirrored in culture too—in the archetypal blob energy of the androgynous, performatively queer Trump-hater demographic. Hair color changes. Piercings move around. But the energy is uniform.

You can have that kind of inclusivity—where everyone blends into the same shapeless moral mush. Or you can have an inclusivity where each person is fully themselves. Each nation is fully itself. And together we meet—not as copies, but as sovereigns.

That’s what Trump is provoking. Not sameness. Sovereignty.

If You’re Panicking, This Is for You

If you’re panicking right now—because you don’t understand what’s happening—I want to offer you this metaphor.

Imagine a four-year-old walks in on their parents having sex. The kid sees the bodies moving, hears the sounds, and thinks: Daddy is hurting Mommy.

They panic. Because they don’t understand what they’re seeing.

A lot of people hating on Trump right now are that four-year-old.

You’ve decided he’s stupid, evil, dangerous. You’ve stuck to that story for years. You’ve refused to listen—to JD Vance, to Musk, to anyone who doesn’t fit your narrative.

And now that people around you are changing their views, you’re calling them brainwashed. You’re holding onto your fear like it’s a virtue.

But what if this is just something you don’t yet understand? What if what looks like chaos is actually strategy?

This Is a Jab

This essay isn’t a plea. It’s a jab. A shot to the ribs. A wake-up kick to the body. It’s meant to land. To rattle. To remind.

Because that’s what a real martial artist does. Not to hurt you. But to wake you the fuck up.

And if you’re not ready, that’s okay. Go play your video games.

Mommy and daddy are having sex. Not quiet sex—loud, messy, fuck-the-whole-house-up sex. That’s what it looks like when sovereign nations reclaim their vitality.

America is gonna be great again.

Canada is gonna be great again.

And when they come together, they’re gonna give birth to a new era.