The oily sheen in my freshly brewed, black coffee swirls about and breaks apart, forming numerous swirling spirals and circles, constantly changing. They are the galaxies I have created. I wonder what planets might exist in my little universe. I blow and poke at the surface of my morning brew, destroying galaxies and civilizations with every stab. Blowing sends the universe into upheaval, entire solar systems crashing into one another. I laugh, applauding myself for being such a wicked deity today.