In my yard: All Monsters Attack Directive

Dreams are groups. Dreaming of a film that was never made and waking to write about it. From the first, to start writing is less than nothing. Not to start on a thesis or a description, “to write.” Continuum of thought-form hallucination, half in and out of dream, this moment is collection time on a debt to an unnameable. Strange formula: “an unnameable.” Not even an other or an entity, an address without name. The words let me offer and rack up more debt. Writing a withdrawal of body from an unidentified. More awake, I do not know what I am writing about but I know the title of that unmade movie: “All Monsters Attack Directive” or attack of the marching monsters directive or monster total advancement directive, depending on the translation from Japanese. Kaiju or strange beast, a term from “The Classic of Mountains and Seas,” Chinese text from as early as the 4th century BC.

Awake now. Dog released into my back yard. I call the dog Jake. I find them in the morning. Dog sitting on the ground by the step, looking at me. Day before he brought one dead bunny, so tiny, perhaps five inches and thin, its ears barely grown. A little blood around its head. This morning, three dead bunnies on the back step, neatly laid, one next to the other. The path of every sentence is between meat and sentience. What is decoded here? The conduit and the transformer. I is singular. It does not matter how many are in. But how? Kill enough to make the set coherent and complete. Negation theory. Annihilate not-I. Words hang between blood and expression. The bunny’s face was placid. Young, its whiskers so short. I saw no pain, I saw mask wrapped around tiny skull. A bunny mask that I wish to don and wear as I walk the earth. The tiny whiskers, the tiny ears. Call it “extra face” and thus I can speak.

The yard must be patrolled. About 216 by 600 feet, enclosed with chain link. There are all the parts of a yard: grass, trees, bushes. Curve and surface of objects that form my enclosure. Possession. At night, deer somehow jump the chin-high fence and wander, leaving scat behind for dog to roll in. Along with bunnies, he brings another small animal, perhaps a mole, tail too short for a rat. Is it what ate all of the bean plants to the ground? Hunt all intruders. The plats and deeds are held by the town. Court is where disputes and borders are settled. I occupy my yard, you yours. My city the rodents burrow past the bones beneath the fence. Can you say the word meat? You are so quiet and peaceful. Kill, kill, kill them all. Herd proceeds being.

In 1968, Toho released what many consider the best Godzilla movie, “Destroy All Monsters.” All out, all monsters, all action. The tagline: “Monsters of mass destruction!” The movie includes Godzilla, Mothra, King Ghidorah, Rodan, Baragon, Varan, Kumonga, Ebirah, Manda, Maguma. Aliens release monsters from Monsterland and use mind-control to send them attacking major cities. This movie exists but I have never seen it. A year later, “All Monsters Attack” followed, also known as “Godzilla’s Revenge,” widely considered the worst Godzilla movie, with the tagline “Prehistoric Monsters Crawl Out of the Hidden Depths of The Earth and Take Revenge Against the Living!” A Japanese boy dreams of flying to Monster Island. The PanAm jet he takes is strangely empty: no passengers except the boy, not even any pilots. It feels like a post-Covid 19 flight. In a second trip the boy meets up with Minilla, the son of Godzilla, a cuddly creature not much bigger than the kid, and they watch as Godzilla senior fights Ebirah, a giant crustacean. Screech! Rocks fly. A jazzy theme plays in the background. I have never seen it, though there are clips on YouTube, and to be honest I’ve seen no Godzilla movies and don’t know much about them.

Decomposition: what exists in yard? Or what exists without yard? Mulch is breaking down. I tell you: herd is all. My yard, my dog, my face. What direction to follow? From face to fence to yard to continent. Or is it inward, to the bone? Face to face. Semantic: yard-enclosure-space. Active application of Zermelo–Fraenkel set theory, with the axiom. “Forcing” (following Cohen) is the intuitive expansion of a set to encompass a larger set. For infinite sets, these are “universes” of expansion on the continuum. I do not understand what I write but forcing I understand. I am all over yard. It is mine and fuck you. I seem to know something. I feed the unnamed. I am content and return to grazing. Where there is fence there is slaughter. The yard is +1, a semi-lattice, where a collection of sets overlaps. Broken glass and dust everywhere, between the blades of grass.

There is a book that lists all the names and you may read it. There is also a name on the cover and you may read this as well, if you ever reach the end of the list and close the book. “Every epistemological antimony,” wrote Kurt Godel, can “be used for a similar undecidability proof.” Specifically, the “analogy” between his syntactic demonstration of set theoretical incompleteness and “Richard’s antimony leaps to the eye.” Jules Richard demonstrated the semantic paradoxes of treating theory as if it could operate in the system it derives from. Nothing works. All codes are broken. “While there is a way to demonstrate that real numbers are unambiguous, there is no way of determining unambiguously which English statements unambiguously define a real number” (Scott). Richards himself points out that the “collection of symbols” only has a defined meaning if the list is “totally defined.”

In between the two movies was supposed to be “All Monsters Attack Directive” but it was never made. Amidst the many other Godzilla movies, is the sequence [Godzilla, …, Destroy All Monsters, All Monsters Attack, …] or [Godzilla, …, Destroy All Monsters, All Monsters Attack Directive, All Monsters Attack, …] or [Godzilla, …, Destroy All Monsters, *, All Monsters Attack, …]? I don’t know, it is in my head. The film rates are sped up almost double to make the monster jerk and twitch and destroy cities, and to offset the awkward burden of moving in the rubber suit. Everything is broken. My body is garbage. Sartre describes the ego as “by nature fugitive.” The reflective-I on the run. From what? From the other, from itself, from nothing. Everything is a double speed rubber suit, a midden heap world degraded by animals who left to become human.

Ernst Zermolo’s formulation of the axiom of infinity reads: ∃ I ( ∅ ∈ I ∧ ∀ x ∈ I ( ( x ∪ { x } ) ∈ I ) ). The axiom guarantees the existence of the set of natural numbers as an infinite set. Surely there are words to deal with this. Amidst the brokenness, my writing and reading does not stop. I possess knowledge and means of expression, just as I possess my yard and my dog. The local to the global. Context. Place over space. Territory versus map. The everyday. The weeds are deep in the yard and these words give nothing. So many boundary descriptions, so many binaries offering parcels of freedom. A price for yard rather than wash of market trend analysis. Peel back grass to pavement beneath which is beating hearts buried and never mourned. I am so tired, so tired of words. Sun on my skin pounding blood in my head. Clotting: mounds of dirt, darkness under the fir tree. There is philosophy in purification and health, in weeding the herb garden. All dead bunnies and their masks.

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