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The button-up shirt, striped, short-sleeved, the avant-garde flip-flops away from view, more preoccupied with the diagram being sketched on sand than with the big deal the firm had to close the following day. Michel, 35 years, a quiet militant from what business leaders had been calling the Atrophic Factor. Wearing no sunscreen but protected enough from sunburn, battery-powered razor, talcum powder and oxygenated water in a small carry-on bag thrown in his rented beach chair. The voice recorder hanging from his neck, the glasses on which he watched his sunlight OPML feed and the simulations running in an analog server farm monitored by modal logicians in Poland. The librivox recording of "The structure of scientific revolutions" blaring out of a boombox.

Alone. Atrophic Factor's metaideological mereotopology tends to disconnect a man from those friends still running the treadmill of energy intensive capitalism. The lover on the run, always looking different, walking in and out of corporate headquarters carrying confidential data, leaving Michel to run her document leak wiki. Michel himself left it to the teenaged russian jack-of-N+1-trades, who did it all just to keep raising international credits for his quasi-automated import-export cash sow. Michel knew him only by his online nickname. Polonius, ironic because he was an involuntary slave to the occult forces of capital, forced out of shakespearean maxims on debt, ironic because polonium nuclear breeders remained one of the technological windows into post-capitalism that the forces of capital repressed with its power to flood all the information channels. Michel himself, had to pre-censor his mobile OPML feeds with Markov chain models crowd-sourced all along the Atrophic Factor.

Michel let out a faint sigh and adjusted his glasses to block the callipygian distractions by the shoreline while he needed to concentrate into translating his diagram to a matrix format, spelling it out loud in lojban3 to his voice recorder, antecipating with no particular pleasure the later moment of transloading the files to his encrypted folder stored somewhere. When it all was over, Michel inverted his glass settings to select for and amplify the same female forms he was filtering for and grepped his Kisyelov scripts for the code he needed to process that graph. The Kisyelov bytecode compiler had no static analyzer and his code took unnecessary lengths of time back at the server farm. Kisyelov was meant for modeling non-constructive abstractions in analog computers, and Michel's calculations could have been written in any of the free Girard-Sánchez-Miller dialects bubbling over the net. Fuck, Michel's matrix could be processed in Fortran.

JFK once said, mereologically in the first person – "we choose to go to the moon". Michel chose to rest his eyes with the best butts on the beach, as selected by the thermospectral analyzer in his glasses, open-source Girard-Sánchez-Miller code. The server farm people knew AF clients were problematic, and with his casual use of Kisyelov machine time Michel risked a downgrade to tier-4. For the right price, he could rent any piece of ass on the beach – every body has a price - but a tier-2 upgrade pretty much couldn't be bought.

Too many choices, the lover on the run, the anxiety as an AF newb, low endorphine levels from the sedentarism, Michel wasn't being convex-rational. A little disoriented, no real direction in life, Michel packed up his things and went to the surf rental shed. In the sea, his glasses turned off, Michel pondered mereotopology. It wasn't really clear that talk of metereotopology made sense after the repeated failures of whiteheadian formalism, and the general corporate consensus around ZFC. Maybe all that stuff about a consensus was just corporate propaganda, a part of the efforts to block the new technologies of post-capitalism. As far as nonfalsifiable axioms, Michel decided, AF's proposal had the benefit of the doubt because of all the metaideological scope and well, rayos y centellas, AF was the smartest of all the opt-out groups.

The following day, Michel would commit career suicide in grand style, with a slide deck presentation on how the treatment of the axiom of choice affected the viability of the large capital investment the firm was about to take – right in the face of the very investors that would make such an investment physically viable. No ideas but in things, once said a poet. Michel didn't believe in things.

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