...i see my tv glow...

…a "maybe movie" review of the film I SAW THE TV GLOW…

CansaFis Foote

Oct 03, 2024

**…acrylics and scratchy brushes on canvas…**

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"I fawn on those who give me anything, I yelp at those who refuse, and I set my teeth in rascals.”

-Diogenes-

STEP ONE : TURBID

It is weird being a weirdo. Or eccentric. Being an other to others. I know because I am one. I am actually many. To be honest I think I am nothing and no one and that you are all as weird or if not weirder than I am. You are all the weirdest weirdos I know. Now you know this. That is weird.

When your culture doesn’t adopt your culture, go on and pat yourself on the ass – you are no longer your culture. I can’t lonely planet you. I can’t find you. I can’t be you. I can’t vacation to you, or buy one of your XXL cartoon drawn t-shirts with your face on Bart Simpson’s body saying Don’t Have A Cow Man.

I like seeing you in the wild. It makes me feel feral.

Nothing wakes me up like a bat at dusk flapping into my face (that happened a couple weeks ago). Social media drives me batty. It gives me wings. It makes me equal parts allergic and acerbic. I become absorbed in my own adornment for an absurdity that gives me shoulder shudders like a vampire next to garlic knots.

Why then does this online planet feel so lonely to me? I don’t belong here on the blinking web. But yet I am told continuously of the merits of an online existence. I will meet people from around the world. They will see me and share their me with me.

I’m not a monster.

(*dips knot into cold marinara)

STEP TWO : TRANSLUCENT

Sometimes I think my language is hard to teach or out of reach and tough to touch. I might not translate well. I am an in-person person. I need to be next to you to mean anything. That is not to say I am meaningless, just that I mean more when I am there and here.

A man told me most of what I do online would do better if I change my name. This was valuable feedback. I cherish the reality of others when I stare deep into themself. My new name is their name. I don’t know their name.

I need to un-understand what I understand. I need to overstand so I can say that I understood that overstating myself to an understudy allows me the space to get over how under myself I am overtuned to (this entire section is so underwritten and overdone).

I am in the midst of an existence crisis. My sense of me is my enemy. There should be nothing more beautiful than a mirror that I make, but I prefer to live in the reflection of others. I want to see what you see. I want my glass to be transparent. I want my existence to be transformed. I want to stay empty while seeking fulfillment. I want to transmutate.

“Where is my mind?” I ask my mind. “Where is my mind?” My mind doesn’t mind that I don’t know. I don’t know that, but my mind told me that I do. It feels selfish calling it my mind. My mind is their own and I might be their them. We are tentative to transcend with each other.

“Sell me to this man; he needs a master.”

-Diogenes-

STEP THREE : TESSELLATION

I repeat myself to myself as a way to be certain I am who I think I am. I am not. I am tackling this settlement of self-loss and considering a re-brand. I have been Cansafis ever since a cloud told me so. Maybe it is time to consider a less wispy muse.

I am becoming a tunnel. I see through myself and think I need to train. I eat to conquer boredom and chew-chew my way through the day. I am distracted by protracted retractions of the actions that give me satisfaction. I want action so bad that I add it to words. I add action by subtraction. I can do nothing less.

*this paragraph is sponsored by vacancy™ “the vacation brand for folks going nowhere”*

I watched the show about the TV glow and I saw inside it the flicker of my memories. I remembered seeing all the possible potential inside of my tubes. I used my TV guide to get spiritual. I could have just changed the channel.

I psychically connect to myself, and through that to others. It might be mumbo jumbo but that is better than a whole lotta nada. I am suddenly susan. I have become friends with my cheers. My big bang theory is to gain wings and get lost in parks and recreation until I have a new heart. I am a survivor or maybe just a mad man. I need to get smart and go have sex in the city.

STEP FOUR : TAWNY

Is it better to be in a maze or to be amazing? To reach an end or to search for one? To start or to escape? To enter or to exit? Becoming is bewitching. Existing is exciting. Transfixing feels transgressive. I feel like I am an alien. I lie down a lot so I am an a-lie-down-lien?

The world is not safe. My physical body is full of holes and aqueous. I squish. I swoosh. I become a logo. My brand is a butt.

(|)

Or maybe an asterix.

I am a hole.

I am an a-hole.

We say hello to greet ourselves. We say goodbye to get gone. What if instead we share our spirit animals? Now I wanna be your dog. Thank you Kurt Vonnegut.

STEP FIVE : TINTS

I wish I had the dog balls to quit documenting everything.

To what end do we owe ourself and others the need to say out loud the things that we see or do or think or do or see or think we say or see or think or do? We give each other to each other endlessly. How can I be me if I’m always us? I might be us less, unless that is useless. I see the world announce itself over and over.

I want to be me. I am not a TV. I want to watch.

My bubbling liquid existence is surfacing. My float is waving. I am a parade of roses. The band marches. My confessions explode like confetti. Pink. Purple. Baby blue. Yellow. Tomorrow the street sweepers will see the words as just more mess on the street. I’ll be brushed into a bag. I want to go everywhere and stay there.

I have the power to keep it together. This is an outlet. I can keep plugging along. Or I can unplug. I am not broken. I can settle on other uses. I can be a chair or lampstand. I can sit still. I can become. I can begin.

It feels odd to start over. But I am weird. I am a weirdo. I am an other. You can be an other too. And another. And another. This camaraderie is our comedy. We should all end seen.

STEP SIX : TEXTING

(*spoilers*)

I wrote this while fascinated and double watching back-to-back the movie I SAW THE TV GLOW by the trans-feminine and non-binary filmmaker Jane Schoenbrun. I was well aware of the entendre of me in front of my TV watching others transform in front of theirs. As a cis dude what is my reflection on or in the trans experience worth? I felt overwhelmed but encouraged to explore.

I feel a kinship in spirit to those who change themselves to become more of themself and am upset by the wolfmen who come out every full moon to hunt for these souls. The film features two sliver faced moon ghosts named Marco and Polo who hunt the protagonist’s of the film both in and out of the TV set.

“Marco” - I want to be found

“Polo” - I want to find you

But the man in the moon, and these pair of slivers, mean harm. A woman loses her heart and the show within the show ends unresolved. The film then dreads into anxiety and eventually metaphors that aging is technology. Is it possible that nothing changes on our TV beyond its form?

It is scary to think that others want to stand in the way of others becoming the other that they are. How hard it is to say out loud that you are what you aren’t now. I’m not anything more than this. Hopeful of a receptive and accepting reality for all whom seek the truth of themself. We are all a show. What we show is our choice. All the future is myriad, and I can continue to reflect in it. And eat garlic knots, watch TV, and try to glow.