Borges imagined an empire of cartographers that reached an extreme level: after making provincial plans that occupied the surface of a city, they achieved a map of the imperial domains that adjusted to the size of their real borders, on a 1:1 scale. The plane is the illusion of a bird's eye view. The labyrinth of canals in Venice, Teixeira's Madrid, Juan de la Cosa's new horizon to the west. Today, satellites correct the world map instantly and mobile phones trace our exact course on the globe. We have reached the Borgesian nightmare of the map that covers the entire vision of the world. That is why in the White House or in Zhongnanhai they change place names or annex on paper what reality denies them: Hormuz, Mexico and the 'nine-dashed line'. The school map of childhood, or the treasure map, describes us better than the one chosen by the UN with a useless geometry of equivalences, by majority, an 'Equal Earth' that covers the Mercator projection, as if one lie could cover another. The most perfect image is the most perfect lie. At a 1:1 scale there is no equity. But this decolonized map will not excite the empire of cartographers whose driving force was the adventure of discovery. When the important thing was to return, the cartographer made sense. His lie had to prove useful. This good map is useless and will remain in tatters in memory like in Borges' story, the last strips of paper stuck like wishes in the branches of some lonely tree.