The title Furono già tra noi? translategoogle’s to Was already among us?.
I’ve scanned over many of Walter’s illustrations on the úndervēb and have come to the conclusion that he’s a bit of a sadist. This is one his least ‘violent’ artworks. It appears that space aliens are ‘visiting’ a small, backward village in a far-off country where elephants are under the yoke of its masters. It could be said that this a vacation spot located in the same backward village. How do I come to this conclusion? The coward, front and center, is wearing some jammin’ red swim trunks. Ordinarily, ‘backwards‘ residents cannot afford modern swimwear. They might very well make them but don’t make enough to pay for them. Oh, sure they could pay for a pair but only at the risk of not being able to buy basic staples such as rice, bread, flour and staples.
This spaceship reminds me of one of those ‘Newton’s Cradles’ you see on a busy executive’s desk. They clack-clack-clack back-and-forth for no other apparent reason than basic physics. Here is what it looks like and what it does.
Pretty exciting, huh?
Who thought spacey invaders have cultures based on every CEO’s desk baubles? It makes one wonder what Proverbs 25:2 is getting at.
God delights in concealing things;
scientists delight in discovering things.
Now on to today’s purge!
This is a Star Trek coffee mug Susan was Christmas-gifted from her sister many years ago. She used it to drink but just recently decided to give it to the gang at Goodwill. Not much is known (or cared) about the character, Pavel Chekov, but I was able to glean this from goodreadsquotes:
Kirk: How close will we come to the nearest Klingon outpost if we continue on our present course?
Chekov: Vun parsec, sir. Close enough to smell them.
Spock: That is illogical, ensign. Odors cannot travel through the vacuum of space.
Chekov: I vas making a little joke, sir.
Spock: Extremely little, ensign.”
Chekov is also credited for the kitschy pronunciation of the word ‘vessel’.
Chekov : [to a policeman] Excuse me, sir! Can you direct us to the naval base in Alameda? It’s where they keep the nuclear wessels.
[He pauses, looks at Uhura, and tries again]
Chekov : *Nuclear wessels*.
And that is that.
“So—who is like me?
Who holds a candle to me?” says The Holy.
Look at the night skies:
Who do you think made all this?
Who marches this army of stars out each night,
counts them off, calls each by name
—so magnificent! so powerful!—
and never overlooks a single one?