Terrible Poetry

Universes are fundamentally soap bubbles: self-organizing peaks in the entropy of existence that form, grow, shrink, spread, and - eventually - die. They form in all sorts of ways: one could bud from another universe, or one could form, spontaneously, from the chaos. One could be imagined from nothing, or blown from stretchy film by some multiversal deity. Two or more could collide together and mix their traits into one, or annihilate each other completely, leaving only scraps to float in the Void left behind…

Bubbles have an inside and an outside, separated by a hermetic barrier at once infinitesimally thin and infinitely thick. An unsurpassable film, one that protects at each moment the inside world from the ravages of the outside. In many interpretations, the barrier is the bubble: remove it, or cause it to fail and the bubble ceases to exist.

Yet in an infinite multiverse, there must come a time where the inhabitants of a universe are not only capable of finding a way to pierce this veil, but do so, regularly, in order to perform the most banal of tasks. They push back against the barrier that holds back the horror of infinity. They poke holes in the film that defines their existence. They drain the infinite potential without in order to bolster the failing potential within, and most aggravatingly, they /survive/...

As it was with Galaxy Eridanus.