Scott Nichols Sailing for Carp I survey the land of the fisherman while he stacks his boats around a pile of grey columns. Something in this world is loose. He takes his coat off, the fisherman, quicker and more able-bodied than I ever could. Or that I have. This is simply a matter of the blind leading the blind. I am at loggerheads with the world. When you hold it long enough, everything begins to feel like human skin. And this has only been a matter of time. Eventually, I will be the blind bull content to choke up and try chasing rabbits, at full breath, for lust, anger and pride. Everything will feel like the first time again. Everything will feel like the first time but a little more human. Perhaps. I’m scuffing my heels in the dirt a lot more now. I have already started stapling pieces of fabric to my fingertips, what’s left of them. Look how human I can make myself.