What greater freedom is there for a man than the capacity to step back from who he thinks he is and have recourse to the option of reinventing himself? All men have a certain role thrusted upon themselves that they compulsively play out upon the stage of societal life. Whether that role is purely fiction, purely reality, or a mixture of the two, is the question at large. Firstly, it is a compulsion because the role itself is wholeheartedly identified by the man as his natural and inherent traits, even though virtually all of its chief characteristics are imitations of what other people have dinned into him throughout his childhood programming. Secondly, owing to the same hypnotic condition, everyone else around him continuously reinforce this pseudo reality onto one another, which as a result makes it nearly impossible for any single one of them to detach from their mechanical role for a moment and scrutinise its validity. Those who do venture in this direction will often be ostracised to some appreciable degree, beginning with a ‘rolling of the eyes’ as the suspect in question is flagged as an idle-minded tramp that has nothing else to do but daydream about nonsense. The world respects and honours mob-minded narratives; mutually agreed by all as the comfortable and convenient status quo of reality.