Shedding sleep in rituals of Electronica

At the top of my pandemic playlist last year was ‘das model’ by the Balanescu Quartet and it so happens that the avant-garde string ensemble performed this cover of German electronic music band Kraftwerk’s composition of the same name, that appeared in their 1978 seventh studio album, The Man-Machine. The track makes its way through the kitchen some mornings, the album is quite delightful and it’s never too late to habituate oneself to new rituals I’d think. Dancing to a kettle being one 😃







Mornings are scant words spilled in a teacup, none left for poems / the rest exhausted in euphemisms like dreams / Characters jumbled in a divine comedy / thickening a plot like snow that sugared the sidewalks / If every dream could be a story, it would be the absurdity of a virus with a crown //

Blinking out the lacunae in windows at dawn / like columns in a crossword / the sun stains them brightly empty / Ten letters in somnolence, I drop along my way to the kitchen / where the stove lights up the day in flame / and blue glow travels faster than Robovox //

Feet, waist, hips, hands cut sense into Kraftwerk / modeling moves of the eighties / My limbs strode like the Robovac / in rhythms ahead of their time / way behind of ours / The knees wobbled in a giggle and begged me to try singing instead / I decide, I like this morning ritual and tell them
it’s here to stay //




In life we come across the strangest people, some are dark souls and some are bright as daylight. Kraftwerk are bright and meaningful with their lithe rhythms, foot tapping music and a beat that keeps pace with the pulse but they are virtual for now even if they are real otherwise. Who is to say what is real and what isn’t, this is the mind body problem of Descartes that I am working on for my next poem and essay.

Ah ! Sleep.


Another of the niceties of life,

Right there,

Knocking outside your glazed eyes,

To be let in.

And all your pressing deadlines,


The ticking time piece,

Wryly hinting that

There aren’t an abundance of hours

Left to the day at dusk.

You envy the feline

lounging on your couch,

And you long to sleep

To Silent Night.

You only give in,

When the bright screen

Flickers much

‘fore your steady eyes.