The person hiding in the far corner of your local cafe, pretending to be a local plant, is not your enemy. Nor is the suspicious contraption which sits in front of you, at the communal table, badly disguised by merely a pair of round reading glasses, a wooly wide striped sweater and an improper amount of facial hair. Nor is it me, your friendly server, who just accidentally poured some liquid straight into your lap. Honestly, none of us is your enemy. In fact it is you, perceiving us as such, who are.
Please note that our observation has nothing to do with the falsehood, or lack thereof, of yours.
We’ve never visited nor shall we visit your planet. We won’t emit any radiation, gravity, time or space signals in your direction. We will not present ourselves to you, nor shall we invade you, in any sense of that word. But the possibility of our existence is already planted deep in your minds. And that, you unlucky ones, is the real invasion.
“What is your name?” I asked.
“Failure to fit the pattern of logical and valid sentences which can exist in this universe,” croaked the grey wet blob through the translation grid.
“Isn’t that a bit pompous of you?” I said. “Can’t you just tell me what your name is?”
“I just did.”
“Define and describe your entire atomic structure, thought pattern and history of existence,” sang the fragile-looking alien, slowly raising its weird, sticky appendages, through the language-conversion contraption.
I dripped and soaked and croaked the information at it.
“That is blobbingly miscorrect of you,” it sang. “Can you not please define and describe your entire atomic structure, thought pattern and history of existence?”
“I just did.”