Dawkins demands a rematch.

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“The thing is, Nick, I’ve had so many odd episodes recently that I’m coming to believe that it has to be for a reason… and the maddening thing is that it looks like it's something to do with me. That I think I understand but still can’t nail it down. It’s like I’m not supposed to see, like I’m being prevented by something.”
“Oh OK, right… I know this one! Jane, I think what we have here is one of those impossible catch 23 situations.”
“Don’t you mean Catch 22?”
“No, no. This is similar but different. A Catch 23 lives in an entirely different plane man. The consepts neatly encapsulates those overly complicated and unexpected glimpses through the mirror, visions from the mystic, those times when one is close to the border lines of psychosis.
Unlike a Catch 22, which is a classic Earth-bound logic trap. Catch 23 is about trying to prove something that’s unprovable. The term more or less states that if you think you're imaginings of your reality are right, then ipso facto: you'll find yourself wrong. A Catch 23 is about the perception of a multidimensional reality and how real it is.”
“Explain yourself.”
“Okay. Did you ever read that Lewis Carroll short story, The Hunting of the Snark?”
“No, no I didn't. I didn't know he'd written anything else.”
“Oh yes. OK, well this Hunting of the Snark is an allegorical tale. A mad quest to find the island where the mythical Snark lives. Now the thing is, with this Snark creature, well, it has a bit of a quantum ratio to it you see. It’s a bit like Shrödinger's cat. Well, it's complicated. See, there’s this cat is in a box and…”
“Eh? What happened to the Snark? Let's not confuse things any further.”
“Okay, forget the cat. Well, the thing is, this Snark creature is in fact a Boojum. And the aggravating thing with a Boojum is that the very act of seeing a it, well… looking at it changes it from the Snark into a Boojum and the trouble with Boojums is, well, if you see one you cease to be!”
“Eh?”
“So one can never be found! Do you see? It can never be proven, you know, like god.”
“What’s that got to do with Catch 22?”
“Nothing. Well, a bit. Forget about Catch 22. Let’s just say, for argument’s sake, you know, that we want to prove that telepathy is real. Say a grand plan is devised. A demonstration of how to nail it all down once and for all. It's decided that the scientists will hold off their academic rationale and spend a day out of time with the mad-cap-laff lot. You know, the ones with bells on their fingers and toes, fluffy stuff in their hair, joints hanging from their lips - and let's say they all gather together in the woods for the grand experiment. Everyone’s there, and at the head of the sceptics' table is Richard Dawkins. He's keeping score and feeling very confident. The scene is set and machines are wired up to brains. The couple in question are psychically linked with their feelings of love for each other; strong and streamin'. A random number generator is then switched on and surprise, surprise, the hippies score a significant result. Dawkins face goes red as he growls impotently.
“The hippies all cheer as one but Dawkins demands a re-match. The following week all is set up as before. Result? Telepathic communications breakdown. The hippies scratch their collective heads and go home to get stoned and ponder on why it never works on demand. And Dawkins? He's floating 2.5 mm off the floor, a self-congratulatory smile of smug satisfaction playing on his lips as he slaps his hands together with glee. The hippies look on and bemoan the curse of a non-compliant universe.”
“Wot?”
“Well...the thing is Jane… this is a slippery explanation for a very slippery eel. This mystical mangling of perceived perception is hard to put a finger on and it’s a pain. I first heard the theory from a man called Don in India some years back. He got it from a man from Caracas and he said he got it from the Illuminati. I think he got it from too much acid myself.
“You're talking in riddles Nick. Sort it out.”
“How about… If you think you have the answer to life the universe and everything you’ll be made to look a fool.”
He looked at my puzzled expression and tried again.
“How about if you try too hard it won’t work but if you sort of aim in the right direction and sort of have a party on the way, and if it feels right, chances are more in your favour, especially if you clean up after you. Any good?”
“Oh god! What sort of crap is this Nick...?”
“Hmm. Maybe not the best answer. But that’s just it Jane. That is the whole point of a Catch 23. It doesn't want to be proven. The closer you get, the more likely it is to change state... how about colour? You can’t have black or white without colour. Any good?” I just stared at him.
“Well, what is it? Shit, let's crack on shall we?”
“Okay, okay... see... see… it’s like Shrödinger’s cat...”
“What is it with this bloody cat!?”
“Okay... um... okay...” And he stammered and hummed and got fuckin’ nowhere.
“Forget it Nick, it really doesn’t matter anyway. I’m hot. I’m going for a swim. How ‘bout you?” I asked as I stripped off my T-shirt and pants, dropping them on his head. “Right, the last one in’s a confused mess of neural endings.”
And I left him where he sat and ran to the water.
“No problem hun, just about sums me up.” He mumbled as he lifted my pants from his face, laughing as his battered neural endings flapped uselessly in the soft and gentle breeze.

About the Author: 
Tim Weeks, a 56 year old surviver, just free from the deathlike grip of the monkey. Recently published my book Catch 23, originally written in 1994. It's taken all that time to finally have the re-written story available on Kindle through Amazon. catch23.info https://www.tumblr.com/blog/timothyweeks