This is clearly a stalactite in Kirk's hands. And nothing else. Apparently a lot of people see it as something more. I can't think why.
It's from the early episode "What Are Little Girls Made Of?" (hint: it's not stalactites) which I watched last night. It was written by Robert Bloch, disciple of H.P. Lovecraft and writer of the story Hitchcock's Psycho is based on. There are references to Great Old Ones in the episode, but it seems to be more about human interaction than Lovecraft's stories generally were. Apparently the episode was heavily rewritten by Gene Roddenberry, and it does feel like a more troubling story about the nature of the human mind is slightly buried by Star Trek business. But it's an effective episode, in any case.
Oh, wonderful, beautiful Star Trek dames. On the left is an android--the episode concerns Kirk and Nurse Chapel caught in subterranean ruins on a planet where a human scientist, Korby, Chapel's fiance, has discovered alien technology for manufacturing androids. He demonstrates to Kirk Andrea's (the android dame) lack of emotions by having her kiss Kirk then having her slap him. Her lack of emotions, though, later can't withstand two kisses from Kirk.
Kirk imposes his mojo apparently to prove that the androids have emotion, so that he can argue to Korby later that androids are dangerous, totally logical emotionless beings. Yes, I wrote that right, the story in fact doesn't add up. Which I suspect has something to do with the rewrites.
However, in its current form, there is still something in it. When Korby realises the contradiction in proving androids are just as good as humans by daring Kirk to give an android any equation to solve, there's an interesting moment of android madness the script clearly didn't know where to go with, so all the androids die. It kind of works though when one interprets it as a human mind falling into an error in judgment, proving its love and sensitivity with reason.
Here are a couple rabbits that were hanging around outside my classroom on Wednesday;
Twitter Sonnet #355
Inchworm braille goes unseen on a Tuesday.
Nobody's glass was scratched by white carpet.
Trickling dust turns fibres to a pale grey.
False buds clack against labial trumpet.
The red torso holds a mutant squirrel heart.
White leaves spiral over the formica.
Pain walks in a red suit through the Wal-Mart.
Eyelid reefs capsize rum in Jamaica.
Monday's moon ignites Thursday's mood tree wood.
Flames of Tuesday vanish down Wednesday's drain.
Weekends are what Earth never understood.
Friday bulges with the cash of the sane.
The first day dawns in the heart of a droid.
Asexual stalactites fasten void.