Men, as the sole unnatural creatures on earth, tend to overlay their sentimentality on top of the actual reality that exists before their eyes. The habit coats the plain surface with an artificial hue that isn’t really there. A man’s experience of the Earth itself turns into a foggy cloud of lunacy. Their senses warp the practical facts into endless complication and nonexistent obstacles. Inflexible rules and conditions encumber the opportunities that stand always right before the very next steps. If a man wants to love someone or something, his movement towards that love staggers and wavers in the face of thoughts of rejection, doubt, fear, and the fantasies of a mind overfed by the paranoia of utter nonsense. Even the simple emotion of happiness becomes intoxicated by the poison of feeling a lack of appreciation in the alleged opinions of others and in not receiving what is perceived to be a deserved status amongst the social hoard of onlookers. His head is filled with a mess of judgments, and in such stormy climates only disaster can result. For the sake of their sanity, men ought to clear out all of this clutter by learning the taste of their own caged delusions.