I think of travel as fractal in nature. It takes place off the mapastext, outside the official Consensus, like those hidden and embedded patterns that nestle within the infinite bifurcations of nonlinear equations in the strange world of chaos mathematics. In truth the world has not been completely mapped, because people and their everyday lives have been excluded from the map, or treated as «faceless statistics», or forgotten. In the fractal dimensions of unofficial reality all human beings - and even a great many «places» - remain unique and different. «Pure» and «unspoiled»? Maybe not. Maybe nobody and nowhere was ever really pure. Purity is a willothewisp, and perhaps even a dangerous form of totalitarianism. Life is gloriously impure. Life drifts.
back to mangolandia.