Yesterday while skimming an article on the 14 characteristics of such regimes, I stumble on this description of fascism: We no more saw it developing from day to day than a farmer in his field sees the corn growing— he simply wakes one morning to find it is over his head. Yes. The way I do not sense the 500 calories cut each day as recommended by the sports nutritionist, yet one evening after blanching asparagus as I sit to eat from my plate like a rainbow (the wild salmon, the pickled beets with goat cheese!), a small child is being carried down a mountainside in Yemen, the child with a seeping head wound, or in one day’s time how many texts, how many emails, how many of your long brown hairs still on the bathroom tile though you’ve been gone for months, and as I drop yet another in the trash, Barber's Adagio for Strings is broadcast once again over a city square in England; each night on my couch with my tablet, watching the series in which a lesbian is hung from a crane, and as I power down the screen, halfway around the world two men are caned, lashed 82 times for sharing a bed. I brush my teeth because here at least thanks to Madison Avenue I am conscious of the subtle dulling of enamel, the slow graying, while in an apartment building in Mosul more than a hundred civilians are killed by us. And there’s my own callousness, the terrible joke I made to friends almost a decade ago after a night club fire. Where did it come from, this cruel soil in me that nourished such darkness— the unnoticed leaking from the garbage disposal until the whole kitchen is flooded with dirty water. And the musician of whom reports say he battled it his whole life only to believe there was no other way. It’s true. There is no other way, and spring does come, falling asleep to the heavy sweetness of the small white flowers on the orange tree in the living room, the thing fluttering in my chest for no discernible reason, and I stop and wonder how the moon can be full again so soon, why at times is it so hard to notice this dazzling pendulum swinging through the sky?