I imagine my inner landscape as a field of directional urges—local currents that stretch perceptions more strongly along one axis than another. From scattered origins these urges expand in every direction, yet each grows faster along its preferred drift. Where two such expansions meet, a fault line appears: a negotiated frontier between competing orientations. The map of all frontiers, traced here in ink, reveals identity as a quilt of elliptic drift chambers— regions whose shapes are set not by rigid symmetry but by the subtle anisotropies that guide my thinking. Boundaries neither align to a common grid nor follow perfect circles; instead, they form an irregular lattice born from the quiet bias of each domain.