In the rational world, facts result in perceptions, and not the other way around. But there's another, parallel world where a different sort of perception takes the place of observation, and renders the final verdict on what's real, and what's merely an aberration. In that shadowy world, decisions are made—and lives hopelessly derailed—based on nothing more than a feeling within a mood.
"Ah," you may be thinking, "but what of the argument that facts are themselves subject to the whims of perception? After all, what are facts but the reflections of our impressionable senses, through a glass, darkly, and all that? Hmmmm?"
It's a fine argument, and I agonize over it whenever I get the chance. It's just that—in my experience anyhow—this argument is often accompanied by another, related line of reasoning that follows, eventually, after I've gotten to know the person better. The actual problem, according to certain now-better-known individuals, is that their perception is generally accurate, while mine, alas, has more in common with that of a piece of wood.
Alas indeed. Nevertheless, I take solace in the possibility that it's mahogany they have in mind.