Anyway you call it
It's a label,
Virtual, invisible,
Post real,
Post truth,
Things are things
Not the name they have.

Change the names
Our minds change,
But it is inside:
the outside remains.

There is nothing more to words
Than senseless vibrations
We use to attach things.
We live delusional states
Where we think
Verbs, nouns, prepositions,
Trying to locate
Minds into grounds,
But we forget their nature,
That they're tools,
Deceiving, necessary tools,
Simplistic, manipulative tools,
Practical, addictive tools.

Lately I've been realizing
To be truthful
The only start
Is in the the anti words space,
The reverse map of reality:
All that is known, hidden,
And all that is mystery, shown.

Otherwise the only thing to do
Would be to hope
To find a new continent
On everyday commute.