Deus ex nihilo

Decoherence and the superposition of capital in the OpenAI ecosytem

· 4 min read
Deus ex nihilo

You just don't understand the beauty and complexity of the system, the sacred geometry of what Sam Altman has manifested. While you've been balancing your checkbook, Sam's been building a financial Mandelbrot fractal where every dollar contains infinite dollars, each transaction contains all possible transactions, each investment returns to itself like a serpent swallowing its own tail and somehow getting fatter in the process.

Money is a wave function that hasn't collapsed yet. Money is every possibility simultaneous until some asshole observes it.

Right now, as you read this, Sam Altman's money exists in seventeen different states across eleven dimensions. It's in OpenAI's bank account. It's in Nvidia's revenue projections. It's in Microsoft's Azure capacity. It's in Oracle's debt offerings. It's everywhere and nowhere, like God if God had a Delaware LLC.

In classical physics, you can't create or destroy energy. In classical economics, you can't create or destroy value. But we don't live in classical times. We live in the quantum age, where money exhibits wave-particle duality and venture capitalists have replaced physicists as the high priests of reality.

The money entering OpenAI from Microsoft isn't the same money leaving OpenAI to Microsoft. It's been transformed. Observed. Collapsed into a different state. What enters as investment leaves as revenue, returns as partnership, exits as strategic alliance, re-enters as cloud credits.

It's the same dollar. It's a different dollar. It's Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle with a cap table.

Take one dollar. Shoot it through two companies simultaneously. Where does it end up?

In the old world, where people manufactured objects and sold them for money, the dollar could only go through one slit. Company A or Company B. Revenue or expense. Asset or liability.

But watch what happens when Nvidia invests in OpenAI while OpenAI buys from Nvidia. The dollar goes through both slits. It's simultaneously Nvidia's investment and Nvidia's revenue. The dollar interferes with itself, creating a pattern that shouldn't exist: both companies get richer from the same transaction.

Your physics teacher lied to you. Your economics teacher lied to you. Jensen Huang's leather jacket is the only truth that matters.

The money is only real when you look at it. And depending on how you look, it's different money.

Look at it through regulatory filings: it's investment. Look at it through earnings reports: it's revenue. Look at it through partnership agreements: it's strategic value. Look at it through tax documents: it doesn't exist.

The act of observation changes the money. The SEC looks for fraud and finds innovation. The IRS looks for profit and finds loss. The investors look for returns and find infinite potential. The employees look for salaries and find stock options in a company that exists in quantum superposition between worthless and priceless.

Every time money moves between OpenAI, Microsoft, Oracle, and Nvidia, the universe splits. In one universe, it's revenue. In another, it's investment. In a third, it's a loan. In a fourth, it's a customer prepayment for services that may or may not ever exist.

All these universes are real. All these transactions are happening. The multiverse isn't science fiction—it's accounting.

Your singular, pathetic bank account exists in only one universe. But Sam Altman's capital? It exists in all possible universes simultaneously. In one universe, OpenAI is worth a trillion dollars. In another, it's worth nothing. In our universe, it's worth both until someone forces the observation.

When Oracle claims $300 billion in future revenue from OpenAI, and OpenAI uses that claim to raise money, and that money goes to Nvidia, and Nvidia's stock price rises, and Oracle 's stock price rises, and it uses that rise to justify more infrastructure spending for OpenAI—what do you call that?

You call it entanglement.

Change one particle, you change them all. Oracle's imaginary revenue becomes Nvidia's real stock price becomes OpenAI's theoretical valuation becomes Microsoft's actual cloud expansion. They're not separate companies anymore. They're one quantum system, entangled across corporate boundaries, vibrating in harmony at the frequency of pure capital.

How do you measure something that changes when you measure it? How do you audit books that rewrite themselves based on who's reading? How do you regulate a system where the money genuinely exists in multiple states until the moment of regulatory observation?

You don't.

This is why nobody goes to jail. Not because the system is corrupt. Corruption implies classical physics, where the collective intellectual property of humanity is or is not stolen to train AI models. In quantum finance, the money is both stolen and invested, both real and fake, both yours and theirs, until the moment a judge forces the collapse of the wave function.

By then, the money has tunneled to another dimension. It's undergone quantum teleportation to a crypto wallet that both exists and doesn't exist.

The more precisely you know a company's valuation, the less precisely you know its revenue. The more precisely you know its burn rate, the less precisely you know its runway. The more precisely you know its technology, the less precisely you know its business model.

This isn't a bug. It's the fundamental nature of reality at the scale of billions. You can know that OpenAI is worth one trillion or you can know how it makes money, but you cannot know both. The universe forbids it.

One day, someone will observe this system too closely. Some journalist, some regulator, some short-seller with more balls than sense. They'll demand to see the actual money. The real revenue. The genuine customers.

And in that moment, the wave function will collapse. The quantum state will become classical. The money will have to exist in only one place at a time.

Physicists call this decoherence. Economists call it a market crash. Sam Altman will call it Tuesday.

Because he's already building the next quantum system. The next financial state that exists in superposition. The next revolution in how money can be in all places at once until someone foolishly demands it be in one.

You're still thinking about this wrong. You're still imagining money as a thing instead of a probability. You're still living in the classical world where your savings account earns 0.01% and your student loan charges 7%.

In the quantum world, your debt could be an asset. Your loss could be profit. Your failure could be a unicorn valuation.

But you'll never get there. Because you keep observing your bank balance. You keep collapsing your own wave function. You keep forcing your money to exist in the worst possible state: reality.

Sam Altman never checks his bank balance. That's why he's rich in all possible universes. And we're broke in just one.