Portland was now the home of the World Planning Center, the chief agency of the supranational Federation of Peoples. Portland was, as the souvenir postcards said, the Capital of the Planet. Its population was two million. The whole downtown area was full of giant WPC buildings, none more than twelve years old, all carefully planned, surrounded by green parks and tree-lined malls. Thousands of people, most of them Fed-peep or WPC employees, filled those malls; parties of tourists from Ulan Bator and Santiago de Chile filed past, heads tilted back, listening to their ear-button guides. It was a lively and imposing spectacle – the great, handsome buildings, the tended lawns, the well-dressed crowds. (Ursula K. Le Guin:
The Lathe of Heaven)
Nisam pisao neko vreme jer sam se ponovo selio. Ovo je priča o tome.
Sve počinje od mape. Odnosno, neke apstraktne forme krenu da se naziru po predznanju, jer retko se desi da o nekom relativno poznatom mestu ne znamo baš ništa. To predznanje je obično šturo, daje nekakve obrise, senke ideja. Ako bismo pustili mašti potpuno na volju, počeli bismo izmišljati grad koji ne postoji, nikada nije postojao, niti će postojati, osim u toj istoj mašti. Pošto je, međutim, preseljenje konkretna stvar, nameštaj, odeća, knjige, šerpe u kutijama umotane u papir, sa puno lepljive trake, mašta takođe traži lepljivu traku na koju će nalepiti bilo koju informaciju do koje može da dođe, i tako otvoriti prostor za nekakvu, makar i sasvim pogrešnu, konkretizaciju maglovitih predideja. Dakle, sledeći, i prvi pravi korak, jeste mapa.
