Posts Tagged ‘infection’


A back door is a method of bypassing normal authentication, securing non-sanctioned remote access to a computer while trying to remain undetected. In the old movie War Games, Dr. Falken put a back door in his sentient computer, WOPR, using the code name Joshua, the name of his dead son. With it, he could supposedly subvert all the other programming imperatives and get the computer to respond to him as his own creation might thereby averting global thermonuclear war. The premise being that a sentient super computer might have a conscious and a sub-conscious brain function as if the computer hard drive had been partitioned and the sub-conscious part had full access to the conscious but not visa versa.

As a real life scenario that movie was hysterical and silly. As an allegory for the nature of the human brain it is dead on.

The human brain functions not only electrically and chemically but also on a quantum level. We all can sense our surrounding using the quantum harmonics of all reality. Physicists have uncovered the quantum mechanics behind intuition, empathy and even the ability to smell.

What does this mean in the big picture of things?

It means every human alive has a backdoor into his sub-conscious. It is a two way door. You can go out and play but other things can come in and take up residence.

For those who know how to manipulate the quantum universe, this door is the means to control the hive mind. The average human is far too busy for deep introspection and far to frightened of “loosing their mind” if they attempt to journey via the quantum highway. If you are unaware of the doorway, you cannot guard against intruders.

Control the hive mind and you control the unconscious reactions of everyone.

How? We are only 6 degrees apart from every other human on the planet.  As the population of the planet becomes denser and more closely confined, this is more true than ever. Control the local hive and the greater hive soon follows. The mechanics of it is not unlike that of a virus. With no immune system to block it, how soon does the outbreak become epidemic? With no defenses, is not a pandemic inevitable?

There are a whole lot of people with their fingers buried deep in the hive mind. Some of them, a very few, actually mean no harm.

Luckily for us, most of them are light weights.

But what if…

Do we find the movie War Games so entertaining because we have been there, in that moment, when someone tickled the back of our minds and said  “Hello, Joshua. Would you like to play a game?”

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When I was in grade school half a century ago, we learned to read from text books filled with fables and parables. The pages were filled with teaching stories like “Little Black Sambo”  (which was not as racist as the politically correct police would have you believe if one reads it in context as one would read Rudyard Kipling and Mark Twain.  Little Black Sambo was a story about a clever little Indian boy named Sambo who, knowing he has only himself and his natural smarts to rely on, manages to avoid getting eaten by a tiger ) and “The Dog, the Fox and the Fleas”.

These stories were pre-Disney. That is to say a dog was just a dog and a fox was fox-like and every tiger or wolf wanted to eat you for its dinner as was the nature of all predators with big teeth. The animals did not have cute names like Todd or Max or Harriet. We lived closer to the natural world back then, and anthropomorphizing animals was considered just as crazy as naming your steak dinner Mirabel.

I vaguely remember The Dog, the Fox, and the Fleas. The dog had fleas. So many that it distracted him from everything else, including chasing the fox, apparently. (Remember, pre-Disney, the fox and the dog were never friends) The fox saw the dog’s distress and tells him to go find a sponge and take it to the river. There the dog must take up the sponge in his mouth and walk into the water very slowly, slower than a flea can crawl. This the dog does. Step by step he submerges his body until only his nose is sticking out. Then, holding his breath, he slowly immerses even his nose, at which point the dog lets go of the sponge, now laden with all its fleas, and lets the river wash it away.

Parasites can do that. Distract us from doing our job. Torment us until we forget what it is like to be sane and pain free. We are horrified by our own parasites, so much so that we cannot talk about them in polite company, and can only whisper their names when we seek help in their eradication. Lice, we say with a shudder. Ringworm. Pin worms, we choke out in horror. What is the source of our shame, I wonder? It is not like hosting a parasite is such a rare thing. In the field of biology, it has recently become quite apparent that parasites are the dominant force in every ecosystem. Who are we to think that humans are any different?

The surprising thing about all parasite/host relationships is the math. 66/33 seems to be the pivotal ratio. It is the percentage of healthy to infected individuals that a population can support before declining into population collapse. It is the amount of energy sucked out of the reproductive cycles of a species fully infected. It is the percentage of the ancillary positive side effects given to the species who prey upon and thereby profit from the parasite’s predations on other species. For every carp who has been turned into a zombie by brain parasites, there is a bird with a free fish dinner, taken in payment for spreading the parasite to other hosts.

There is that word.  Zombie. This is the fear and the horror. That we might be taken over and forced to do something that will get us eaten. That our thoughts just might not be our own. That our body can betray us if we are not ever vigilant.

I think human civilization rose up because of that fear. I think it is the engine that drives us ever onward, inventing bigger and better ways to beat back the parasites. What is civilization but a series of walls that protect us from the zombie hoards?

Unfortunately, for every wall we build, the parasites reinvent themselves, that they might sneak in past our defenses. It is the smell of plenty that attracts them. It is like the wet smell from the water cistern in a rainless desert. It is like the corral full of fat calves in a barren plane. It is like the fat purse whose jingle draws the pickpockets and the thieves. It is the business built on a great idea and the hard work. It is a land nurtured under wise stewardship that all the ensuing generations might live as well as those that came before. The fatter the prize the hungrier the predators. It is almost as if nature cannot abide plenty. That 66/33 number seems to work both ways.

Even in our own genome, one could argue that we have evolved into those who are full of life, living in synergy with it and those who prey upon that synergy, being unable after a couple of million years of natural selection, to fend for themselves, reduced to a half life stuck to the vein of others.

So, in the current political/economic quagmire, when the numbers guys are busy manipulating the numbers to suit themselves and their parasitic agendas and the parasite carriers who profit from the misery are distracting you with Mark Twain’s use of the word nigger or Hollywood’s cocaine problems, you might wonder at your rage at what seems like injustice. It’s that huge elephant in the room that no one seems to want to discuss. There is a reason. Intuitively, we all know when that 66/33 number has been violated. We do not talk about it, just as we do not talk about head lice or worms. There is shame in the illness, a mark of weakness in a world where the weak are thrown to the wolves.

But the straights we find ourselves in now is not a barely noticeable annoyance. This is a plague of bloodsuckers that have drained the world pale. Something must be done before the human race consumes itself. We are like Dog. We need to remember Fox’s advice and find a sponge. You just gotta remember that even though that moment when you are fully submerged feels like you are dying,  it is a very necessary last step before emerging from our bath flea free.

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