Own

First snow is falling,
One flake at a time.
The sun right there,
To warm us all up.
I'm in my garden,
The grass is soft.
The birds sing above,
What a day to be shot.

My brother and father,
With me in a queue,
And the cold barrel,
Of a colt .22.

They're saving bullets,
The bloody pricks,
One for the three of us,
They're hoping that,
It will stick.

One look at my life,
And it is very clear,
It has all been a,
Colossal waste.
Dear oh dear!

Never saved the world.
No buildings no book,
Carry my name,
Not an art or craft,
I can claim to own.

Never even felt,
The warmth of a woman.
The weight of gold,
In my purse,
Or a song on my lips.

There will be no mourners,
Or roses at my grave,
Even the bullet that,
Snuffs out my life,
Will not bear my name.

They were right to think,
The big bad world,
Doesn't owe me a thing.
Cause it doesn't,
Not yet anyway.

This can't be it.
I couldn't even,
Die with myself.
Rage and hatred,
Calm my being.

This isn't it I promise,
As I kick out my
brother's legs,
From under him.
And the gun goes off.

Missing every head,
It finds a wall.
Before my brother,
Our assailant,
Completes his fall.

The adrenaline pumps,
As submission turns,
To brutal whim.
They didn't know what,
lay in store for them.

They never really,
Get over the shock.
Soon guns change owners,
And the original ones,
Have been shot.

Satisfaction flows over,
My butchered esteem.
As I watch the blood,
from their wounds gleam.
Payback is cleansing.

I raise my fist,
Up to the sun.
Swear never again,
Will have life won.
So this is what,
It feels like to own.

Flaming skull

The original pen and paper,  sharpened image and with a basic effect from kishan's iphone.

Snakes and ladders

Arm tattoo

Staple pins

Part III - Redemption

I left , my heart broken
but not spirit
I left on my quest
to search for a monster
the monster who'd first
taken my life
and now my love

I followed his fiendish trail
of destruction
through villages
and over mountains
dead beasts and birds
wasted men and trees
fire and blood all over

Soon i reached
village of the wise
unprotected
yet unspoilt
they can't see it
those who seek to destroy

I asked them for counsel
and they asked me to leave
for i was dead and
resurrected ,
and that is not a good omen ,
or so said these .
i begged for a clue
and the a wise one
pointed me to the door
but when i looked at him
i realized
That was the way i had to go

i flew along
the directed path
not stopping
to eat or rest
being resilient
With my weak body
was the toughest part
of this test

at the end of the
earth i spotted
the man who ransacked
the world
mine and many other's
who stories will never be told

I challenged him to a duel
and it was easier than i thought
hunger sharpened my senses
and anger intensified my wrath .
while he was spent
by his killing spree
and his mind broken
by forces , no human eye could see .
matching spell with
killer spell ,
i smashed him to the ground
and as he muttered a final curse
i bid he make no sound

And as i prepared to finish it
his last spell came to tell
and we both transported
back to the desert
back to the living hell
It was then i remembered
as I saw the orange light
there was some thing
the fiend could do
to make me spare his life

"release the girl of your curse"
i ordered him at length
he laughed a ghastly laugh
and said "just do it your self "
only when i'd taken
limb from limb ,
he revealed the secret to me
the secret more terrible
than the curse could ever be .
"The spell cannot be broken "
the wicked one said at last
it only loses it potency
once the person has passed .
I finished him and carried on
for one task still remained.

I knocked once more
upon the door
the door which changed
my destiny
And as she opened up
i took her in my arms
and she looked at me ,
like she knew me not
But she did not resist
As I gathered her into my arms
nor did she cry once
when the dagger came swishing down .

Part IV - The End

The end came quickly
as we were both transported
to the nether
the dagger fell ,
but didn't touch the ground
for both she and i
were around it .

And when i opened my eyes
she was back in the hut
for me to woo again
to begin over afresh ....

Part II - Loved and lost

I trudged along,
Through the frozed desert,
Desparately seeking shelter,
From the murderous winds.
I feared not death,
For only today
I had been struck down,
By a sorceror,
With a heart of black ice,
Yet I lived to fight again.

It was him I sought
to seek out and annhilate
for a monster such as he
should only be free
to roam in hell
I look for shelter after months
to rest and rejuvenate

At length i see a cottage
with a warm orange light
coming through a window
welcoming me inside
I hastened my step and
closed in the gap
reached upon the threshold
took a deep breath
i knocked upon the wooden door
with a question in my heart
The cottage sure was welcoming ,
but some thing sinister as well
What lay in store inside
Time alone would tell

My deep breath
struck in my guts
As the door opened
a little way and
before me she stood
a heavenly beauty
And I'd been staring
but what the hell

At length I asked
"I am a traveller
May I come in  ?"
"Please do" she said
a shy smile upon her face
As she turned and
walked inside .

She had me washed and clothed
and fed and rested
and as the weeks passed by
I fell in love with the house
and the lovely damsel inside
The larders were forever full
and the basins always overflowed
here in the middle
of this god forsaken desert
She seemed to speak
of no kith and kin
And her lonliness
only made me close in

Finally one day
I professed my love
and she said she felt the same
we united in an embrace
And my heart seemed to rest
our mouths met
and i felt complete.

We made love ,
amidst laughter and tears
Holy heaven ?  I thought
I was there !!
I chopped wood
and conjured trinkets
Unnecessary , trivial
Just to remind her that i cared

She'd be waiting for me
when i got back
and come into my arms .
we made love for ever
and knew not hunger
thirst or sleep
Horus melted away ,
time had lost its meaning
just the thought of her
made my nerves tingle ,
it electrified me.

Then that fateful night
she turned away as
as we lay together .
That was the last time
i saw love in her eyes 
before they turned lifeless gray
I had suspected
some thing was amiss
But i didn't know
it was so bad .
It was over ,just like that
extinguished in a flash

Suddenly i found my self
in the cold out side the house
the last words
she said to me
unfortunately were
"My father a soceror,
with a heart of black ice
Cursed me when he left this house
that i should never feel
true love inside
And I'm afraid that is true
and i feel nothing for you"

I fell to my knees
tears in my eyes
she was gone
when i looked again  
I never saw so much as a glimpse
Even as i stared through
the warm yellow glass...

Part I- Genesis

He flew across the desert,
Defeat writ large in his eyes,
Blood and scars everywhere.
His being was numb with pain,
And his mind joined in,
As he remembered the duel.
Had met his match today.

He winced as he recalled,
The fair young lad
Slash and stab with his sword.
And felt the neck,
Which the boy had wrung,
Till the wind had stopped to flow.
But treachery and old age,
Will always overcome
Youth and exuberance.
With a dark and evil spell,
The old sorceror had won.

He gloated over the boy's body,
Lifeless as it lay,
But an unknown fear,
Had chased him ever since
He'd set eyes upon the,
Corpse of the lad who had
Fought and nearly killed him
For a mere animal's life.

He had sought to bring
Peace to his mind.
So he conjured himself,
A cottage,
A little haven,
With a glowing light,
Protected from nature herself.

The sorceror walked,
Out of the cold,
Into the warm orange light.
And he lay at length,
In a bath,
As he was cleaned,
And his wounds healed.

A feast fit for a king,
Sat upon the table
But the sorceror
Could eat but a little
And couldn't drink
But a little wine
And there he lay in his bed
Tossing and wondering
What to do with himself .
What would set
His troubled mind to rest.

Healed and clad in heavy robes
He walked back out
Into the bitter cold
Stared with hatred
At the moon.
For its light
Bothered his eyes
So had some clouds ,
Cover it all up
To keep the light
From getting inside .

It was in that moment,
He created her,
Out of the frozen sand.
Her figure shaped.
At his wand's command.
And then he slashed his wrist,
And held it over her head,
And watched her come to life.

As the blood flowed,
First over her head,
And then through her veins,
He stepped back to inspect,
The most lovely creation in his name.
She was perfect,
From the tip of her hairs,
Down to every toe nail.

The body of a woman,
But the mind of a child.
She did not understand,
The sole purpose of her life.

Thus began the night,
of a thousand atrocities,
for the poor girl,
stupefied and shocked,
to the core,
by his unrepentant evil.

In the morning,
It dawned , upon the evil one,
his heart of black ice,
was still far from any rest,
so never to return,
he turned on his heel,
cursed and left .

3..Shooting star

My body's whole
I remember it all.
Every glorious battle we had won.
Except the last,
The least tricky of them all.
The one for the Kingdom of the Sun.
How had i fallen?
Baphomet's own ?
What has been started,
Must now be done.
No rock left unturned.

I prepare for battle once again.
Heavy armour,
Quiver, mace and bow .
Mighty roars,
And my mind below .
Raging on to take it all,
Reclaim what is my own .

I rouse the forces ,
Lo and behold ,
Your master lives ,
Take heart ,and march on .
Raging on to take it all ,
Take it back to where it belongs

They rise in hordes
My minions rise ,
Hot new blood gushing
Through their lives.
They believe once more,
They live to conquer,
They don their armour again.

War ensemble,
In the once deserted square
Lines of war,
As far as the eye can see.
Father arrives,
Here to give us the final command.

Before his majestic form,
My ego wilts.
His son, I am,
But a soldier nonetheless.
To live and die, by his side
Is my only wish

"Go forth and conquer" he says.
The force roars their approval.
Spilling into the air
Is their impatience for blood.
We start on the long perilious hike,
Black and gold our flag.
It infuses the passing air
With the poison that runs,
Gushes deep within our veins.

Enemy waiting at their gates ,
The fear of death rooted,
In their eyes, hearts and souls
Least they are aware of their fate,
Delusions no more.
Battle is short and sweet,
Guts and limbs lay in pools of blood.
Mostly all of theirs.

Victorious are our roars
As they scatter and retreat .
leaving to us what we had won.
As we take the castles and fields ,
Nay planets, and the beautiful earth.
For our own, the Kingdom of the Sun .

They raise their  heads ,
And behold their master .
He has returned,
The shooting star of yore .
He lives again against against all odds,
To march and conquer once more.

4..Deliverance

Victorious in battle,
we returned home.
As always
A few men less.
The feast was grand,
and beauties divine,
the intoxicants,
straight out of hell.

After a week of revelry,
We settled down,
Spent and satisfied .
But some thing i'd heard,
A "wise" one say,
Had stolen my peace of mind.
I felt compelled,
To sort the matter out,
Or i would never sleep again.
So i sought him out,
asked for an audience,
The pompous inbred swine ...

He greeted me with much ado.
He had to entertain.
For else , I being Baphomet's own,
He would lose his head
In the bargain .
With the rituals done,
And wine inside ,
He asked me to begin.
But when i asked him,
what his words had meant,
he lightly brushed me aside.

"I was drunk " he lied.
And last, weak strand,
Of my patience snapped.
"Don't lie "I roared,
As i lifted him by his throat
clear off the floor.
He felt the blade at his neck
And wrath throbbing in my arms
And the words began to flow.

You were sacrificed.
On the battle ground.
The word came from
Lucifer himself.
The war was won that time,
Though was the battle lost then.

The ground seemed to slip
From beneath my feet,
As it dawned upon me,
I had been used
To meet a trivial end.
The dastardliness of the act,
Brought my blood to a boil .
I thought and pondered,
But there was nothing,
That i could tell myself,
So it all seemed justified .

It was over i decided,
No more me for Him.
I would leave this land,
Live my other life once again.
And as as i reached a portal
I heard his voice
"And where is it we are going ?"
As i told him that i knew it all,
That his vile plan,
Had been revealed.
The unrepentent evil
Of his revolting smile,
Never ceased to drive
Me to chagrin.

At length he spoke
With no emotion
Nothing short of pride.
"Well at least now
You are certainly aware
That you're entitled to no goodbyes
I'm your lord and master
You're mine to use as i wish
mine to discard when i like "

With the veil of love
Shattered and gone
I could see clearly .
All the fraudulent praise
And the glamour days
Oh what a bloody fool
I had been .

But then i saw it
My last chance at deliverance,
From the loathsome
Hands of this fiend .
I bid him good bye with a smile
And for the first time,
Since his creation
The malice and pride in his face
Were replaced by confusion.
I uttered a curse,
Which to his dismay,
Was directed not at him but me.

As my body burst into flames
And metal shackles
closed around my throat
I uttered my last words
"Go to hell."
And I watched with satisfaction,
As the ethereal flames,
Consumed my body,
Down to every last detail.

He fell to his knees,
In accepted defeat,
He owned the body,
But not the soul.

Budget airlines - scam or sham?

Not to sound 'down market', but as a child, I clearly remember being thrilled about every flight. It was not just about getting somewhere in a hurry. In fact, the longer the flight the better. Every bit of it, the take off, the turbulence and the landings were thrilling. The in-flight meals were a delight. The air hostesses, though a little older and heavier, were thorough professionals.

There were always delays, but once upon a time, they didn't just say that they regret the inconvenience caused. They showed you that they were sorry, maybe even cared. They felt the need to make it up to you - compensatory meals and hotel stays were common. You didn't need to be the Queen of England to be able to carry a decent amount of baggage.

The feel of good service extended to the airports. Thin crowds, an inkling of more than mundane purpose, an air of exclusivity even, accentuated by crisp, polished and cheerful announcements, an abundance of trolleys and polite airline and airport staff defined an airport.

Train journeys didn't really make the cut.

Then someone had a vision (rather myopic in my opinion). Everyone must have access to air travel. The airlines must make money on passenger volumes on wafer thin margins. The number of players must increase. The airlines should break even, nay make a profit. After all with the entire populace of this enormous nation in the air (a bone chilling thought to start with) and paying for it, what could prevent
the airlines from booking profits?

Following closely on the heels of the vision, came the implementation. An airspace with two primary operators suddenly had a dozen. We now needed staff to handle the increased volume of work. Schools to train airport staff, air stewards and air hostesses opened up in every
four foot by four foot space available in the city (that this created a class of relatively illiterate people with a river of liquid cash is another story).Highways choked and died carrying people to the airports because now every one could fly.

Got an urgent meeting across the country? No problem! Take a flight (point to be noted, you always could). Squeeze more fun into your holidays by reducing the travel time - take a
flight. This was relatively new. Family function? Fly there. Just bored? Take a flight. Drives are so last year. It was fun for a bit. Till we realized everyone still couldn't afford to fly. And the air lines were still in the red. And we couldn't fix
our infrastructure fast enough (surprise?). And now every thing was a mess.

The airports look like our ST bus stops (though thankfully cleaner). Find an empty trolley, with functioning wheels and brakes (needle in a
hay stack). Queue up to get your baggage scanned. Queue up to check in. Deal with overworked disgruntled airline staff, whose only skill is to tell you in an unnecessary, phony accent that they're sorry, and that's about all they're capable of doing to help the situation. And that is when they're feeling polite. Passengers (now also called guests) are routinely asked to 'kindly' step out of the queue because a trivial issue prevents them from being checked in within the next thirty
seconds.

Flights still get delayed, but now unless you have a 4 hour delay, admitted upfront (which is a rarity, since ETDs are pushed ahead 10 minutes at a time) you can't really hope for compensation or even a meal. At least the airports can stay in business by selling refreshments at astronomical rates. Ever notice the hundred rupee samosa at the airport tastes slightly worse than the four rupee samosa on the footpath? The announcements made by hurried attendants are vying with the railway stations for the 'least clarity and correctness of language' award at the transport hall of shame.

Once on board you scurry to find place for your luggage, which may or may not be available, since the single piece of luggage rule is as pliable as putty.

The Air Hostesses run through the safety instructions charade and are ever so often confused about the name of the destination (I'm sure giving a lot of grannies heart attacks, because they seldom correct themselves).

The seats. Where does one even begin? It'll suffice to say, do I really need to buy first class seats (if and when they're available) to find a place to put my elbows and stretch out my legs and not smell the under arm sweat of a fellow passenger?

The food not being covered by the fare is alright because not every one is hungry or capable of eating on a flight. But when one does choose to buy 'in flight refreshment' does it really have to be clammy and cold? Does the chicken have to taste like rubber and the cucumbers like snot and the coffee like dish wash?
Do I really need to help gather the trash afterwards?

I understand that the vast majority of Indians lack basic toilet training and etiquette, but isn't that something you need to factor in when staffing your air craft so the 'guests' don't need to find out what the guest who used the toilet before them had ordered for lunch?

On a good day, when you move like a ninja through the river of crap, there is still nothing you can do to prevent them from destroying a piece of baggage. Rip it up, ruin the stroller, smash in a corner, or just let it show up open, so your never sure if someone has been through your things. Even if you have one bag ruined every couple of trips, the cost is more than the full fare of the flight. Gone are the days when they used to accept responsibility for manhandling your baggage, and replace or repair bags if they ruined them.

The list is never ending. Luckily international flights still retain some of their earlier glory. But it's no wonder that trains seem to be a more appealing mode of transport nowadays...

Good Old Days

Minute after minute
Day upon day
I sit, I reminisce
About the beauty
The simple joys
Of yesterday

long walks on the beach
The shared street food, yes please
Crazy Saturday nights
Lazy Sunday afternoons,  at least

You hold the bucket 

of memories
Always, it's heavier than before

It's true what they say, my dear

You age in experiences
Not in years!

The yesterday
And the tomorrow
Hold so much allure
We forget to live
Right now
Delegate the living
Some more 

like all of life's little truths
It's so simple, it is scary

We tried to look at it

Every which way

But Today, right now
is the tomorrow's
good old days

Hazardous to health

It's toxic
Carcinogenic
Inviting death
With every breath

Alcohol
And cigarettes
And the occasional
Shot of meth

You're missing the point
I assure you
You're missing
the biggest component

What I'm saying is,
(You know it's true)
Don't you belive me?
Life is hazardous to health.

Life is hazardous to health

It's stressful
Blocks your arteries
The artificial sweetner
In all the smiles

A migraine
An exploding liver
From putting up
With all the stupid swine

That's where it takes root
Digs in its nails
(Puts a) Stake through your heart
And your little dreams

You know it's true
What I'm saying to you
It's independent of your wealth
At the end of the day
It's life that's hazardous to health

Life is hazardous to health.

Jaipur

Well I remember I've said I'll not post a rant. But this is an article I've promised many people. So here goes. 

Well it all started with our move to Jaipur in August the year before last. Quaint little town. Tiny little empty airport. Welcome break from Mumbai, I think to myself. So I collect our bags and head out. We are instantly the object of numerous stares. Not the fleeting glance of a Mumbai passerby. Not the nosey sideways glance of the disapproving Punekar. Not the lingering glance of the curious Punjabi. Two points of difference, the people in the mentioned examples go on with their lives whilst stealing glances, and they acknowledge your right to privacy by looking away when they notice you've noticed. Not in Jaipur. People drop their chores. Fold their hands. And stare. Not check out, not glance, but stare. And what I'd done to deserve their undivided attention, was that I was wearing a ponytail and shorts. And my wife, well she's a woman. That seems to be enough for people to drop every thing they're doing and stare, and continue to stare.

The drive to the hotel from the airport is uneventful. So we notice the roads. Wide and clean. Sparsely populated with cars. But the cars ensure they zigzag enough to occupy the entire road. Leaving place of course for the nut jobs driving down the wrong side in the fast lane.  They seemed to all have been taught by the same teacher - speed all you can, and brake just in time to avoid hitting the car in front of you. Come potholes or speed breakers, slowing down is for suckers, and traffic rules are for losers. I've seen a total of 10 traffic police men in 9 months, and 6 of them were standing together... So a total of 5 occasions. In 9 months. Without a single day spent completely at home.

I'll skip over the hotel stay period and move straight to the house. 

The broker was the first example of the service industry we came across. Once the cat is in the bag, suddenly time loses meaning. 10 minutes could mean any thing from 3 to 24 hours depending on the 'direness' of the consequences of tardiness I promise over the phone. This rule extends to every service, plumbers, electricians, carpenters, taxis etc. save the notable exceptions of the bsnl people and the lpg agent. Weird. Moving on to the settled life. The water is this odd toxic waste which makes you want to throw up unless its chilled below 4 degrees. We haven't grown used to it in 18 months. Also the water neither washes soap nor conditioner off your body or hair.

The house numbers seem to have been marked by someone on an acid trip. Haphazard would be an understatement. It takes me 10 minutes everyday without exception to explain the location of my house to my cab driver. And finding the houses of the other people to be picked up never gets any easier.
The houses themselves are built with an fsi of about 4.5. The architecture , with a few exceptions, is like the person bought a plot of land, built a wall around it, and threw in all the bricks and cement, hoping for the best. Why pay an architect? We can manage. The result is the worst optimization of space I've seen in my life. The houses all have 2 walls common with neighbors on either side. I shudder to think what would happen in case of fire, and how easy it would be for a burglar to get around house to house via the connected terraces.

Come weekend, the first two can be spent handicraft shopping. Then what ? There are a total of two malls worth the name, and unless you're a foodie, there is nothing to do in this so called city. And if you are a foodie there is nothing to do two weeks after you get here.

I realized its a rich, cash driven city, not because I saw any sign of opulence, but because the shops are open and shopping goes on in spite of  all the 7 atms in the vicinity being either out of order or cash. And this was not a one time occurrence.

Jaipur was the first time I had to bag my own groceries at a super market. I was in shock. And the bag was a carton. Here in Jaipur, the ban on plastics is just another way to make a quick buck.

The liquor stores close at 8. What? Seriously? I can never ever find a store open on  a  weekday cause I get off work at 8 30. Who drinks before 8 on a weekday?

Try and get into an auto rickshaw without getting swindled. Not happening. The meter is a mere ornament. All fares are negotiated. On whim. 10 km might cost you a hundred, and 11 might cost fifty more. Night fares apply as soon as the sun goes down. True cave men these.

What can I say about the doctors. 4 different places including fortis hospital, the case history is a formality. They make one, but never look at it again. I believe any decision made with an inadequate case history is questionable at best. You may argue that Jaipur is pretty hale and hearty, I say no thanks to the doctors.

While one would come across the odd misspelled board on a shop in Mumbai, its almost the rule here.  

The 'pink' in the pink city is mostly a dirty orange. And it is pretty wide spread. Why a flyover, for example , needs to be that hideous colour is beyond me..

All said and done, its a nice quaint little hole, good maybe for a 3 day visit if you're staying in one of the claimed 5 star properties. Any longer and it just plain sucks.

Little pink line

My life's work it seems is just a number on my screen.

A rather pleasureless result, this lonely little pile of green.

Forever running like a poor hamster stuck within it's wheel.

I can't understand why they say nothing's what it may seem

Work refuses to leave my head though I called it a day.

Happiness forever gone to sleep no matter what I say

The music is gone the painting is dead
The poetry is no more

The pointlessness of the whole charade  makes my head want to explode

---------------------------------------------

Every dream I ever dreamed seems cursed to mean nothing anymore

Every single breath I take feels like a very expensive loan

I sigh and grieve as I look at the house that could never be a home

Alcohol's once heavenly stupor holds less charm evermore

The desire to stay this course gets weaker by the day

The faint light at the end of the tunnel seems to fade further away

And for some weird but pertinent reason, I don't even care.

The laughs are hollow the smiles are fake even the tears aren't genuine anymore

---------------------------------------------

Against all odds the littlest thing
Brings joy back to the day
A little pink line on a plastic strip
Just takes my breath away

Chorus

It's real funny how happiness
Always hides in plain sight
And all it takes
Is an accident or a happy eye.

Dawn

Something's very wrong.
Something's just not the same.
Trying not to think of it,
Won't make it go away.
It would all be okay,
If i could just for once,
Put my finger on it .

Every one's happy.
Every one is sane.
Every thing is better,
Than i've ever known
It to have been.
Is that it?
Is it all too good?
to be part of my
miserable being?

Life is not a struggle.
I just reach out
And grab what i want.
I have it all,
All the money and fame
Will someone, anyone
Pray tell me
Why it all feels so strange??

A single though
Circumvents my head
"Get out!" it screams.
"get the hell out of here!!"
But another thought
I then notice
Get out, and go where ?
Something's got to give
This dream or my head.

Suddenly it all makes sense.
A dream it is
And i'm not bound in.
Buoyed by this realization
To the surface I float.
Consciousness swiftly
Replacing the cloud in my head.

From one hell to another
I come falling through.
Now i'm pinned down
Stuck fast to my bed.
This beast i can't see
Trying to enter my chest.
I call out to my maker
Struggling to keep control
Lest I lose my body,
my mind or my soul .

As sanity threatens
To desert my mind.
It looks like my soul will go
Somewhere no one can find.
I find my voice
A scream breaks loose.
I'm finally awake.
Breathing in short gasps.
Sweat soaks my hair.

The ordeal is over.
But the fear is not gone.
I wonder why,
Then the truth strikes home
Its cold, its dark and I'm alone
And it's a full nine hours
Untill the break of dawn.

Ticket to life

Get up, get started, get it on
Now's better than ever again

Yesterday's a nightmare, the morrow a dream
Right now's the only game

Deep in the rut, you've got both feet stuck,
Time chains and drags you away,
Day after night after week after month
Years after decades it's just crazy

Velocity naught displacement squat
You've been running in the same place
If you don't move it soon, get into it now
You'll have missed the window

The window of opportunity

They won't hand it to you,
For the simple reason that,
They don't have any to spare,

Believe it or not, like it or not,
Only you can write your own,
Ticket to life.

Grab it now. Grab it by the nuts,
That's the one, the only way,
Blitz kreig and take what is yours,
If you can hear this, it's not too late.

No more hands chained to your sides,
Light a fire to the place,
Melt you shackles, use the boiling metal,
To tattoo your destiny,

Onto your once dreary life

Get up, get started, get it on
Now's better than ever again

Yesterday's a nightmare, the morrow a dream
Right now's the only game

They won't hand it to you,
For the simple reason that,
They don't have any to spare,

Believe it or not, like it or not,
Only you can write your own,
Ticket to life. 

Auto pilot

The area of the brain which controls or handles or generates guilt is not active when you're just about to fall asleep or in the instant you have woken up or when you're seriously drunk. It's just off.
As we all know, serious guilt has significant physical manifestations. A cramped up diaphragm (the proverbial brick in the stomach) to restrict breathing. A flurrry of subconscious brain activity threatening to take over conscious thought the minute you lower your guard. Depending on the particular cause of your guilt, over compensating behavior. All these manifestations of guilt just disappear in the three scenarios I just mentioned.

With sleep it's momentary. You don't remember for the instant before you're fall asleep, because all the effort invested in trying to fall asleep is essentially effort in that direction. So the instant you get there, boom. The waking up part lasts a few seconds while you gather your geographical and moral bearings.

Coming to the point of this rambling, the sustained guilt free state, through the consumption of copious amounts of alcohol. The wipe out is so thorough, that you could allow yourself to compound your guilt,  by repeating the action (or lack of it) that led to the state of affairs in the first place.  Since alcohol is a disinhibitor, it makes you reach your natural state which is instinctual and primal and you tend to do what your gut tells you.  It pushes you back your entire lifetime from a memory and learning perspective and a few hundred thousand years from an evolutionary learning perspective. You become this joyful being without constraints, burdens, prejudices, responsibilities, a past, with no concern for consequences and the future.  You're living in the present.  (Essentially you become a dog). In short alcohol switches off the pesky thinking and analyzing part of your brain and puts you on auto drive. The result?  Peace.  You're not concerned with anything, about anyone etc.... You're restored to your natural selfish blissful state. 

Did the word 'blissful' there ring a bell? It's exactly the same buttons spiritual or religious activities and meditation push. The effects are similar, barring the lack of motor control. 

Think about it.  The net goal of all spiritual routine,  when you peel off the layers of mythology and dire consequences, is to involve you in a mind numbing chant or dance or some activity which basically turns off the aforementioned thinking part of the brain. For moments when it's successful,  you feel blessed. You feel forgiven.  Of course you feel forgiven - you're not feeling guilt anymore. And of course it's addictive.  The books, the stories,  the theories etc are all designed to make you 'praise the Lord' in some way,  leading to meditation,  chanting and the like.

It's been mentioned that mediation is performance enhancing,  more relaxing than sleep etc.  Wouldn't you do better at everything if you were on natural instinctive auto pilot ? All your knowledge in hardware,without the software to slow it down or interfere. (Yes hardware is much faster than software).
Also without you sabotaging your own bodily form and function,  you breathe better,  your posture improves etc etc etc.  Sleep will be needed eventually, but in small measure.  You would age slower since you would do lesser damage to your body.

Someone has rightly called religion the opium of the masses. What he missed out however is that opium, without the associated physical issues might be an excellent way of life in non war scenarios.  Infact, why not war? Yes, it would be difficult to indoctrinate,  but those you get through to would kill without guilt and without malice. 

The ideal solider hence, would be a yoga expert.