Page 129

By Jack Joseph Smith

- 132 ‘ the night veil of sorrows I would look out the windows of the speeding ear and see sorrow walking on the mist between the twisted trees, One hundred and twenty miles an hour over the winding black roads with a bottle of in your hand and your voice high with the wind, "uggsy was his name, Tall and lankie, with glasses hanging over his noses Ourly black hair combed streight back,.so you could see the veins im his forekead move with the flashing of his eyes, Ghost Riders in the Skyy.we're riding sng al VE Loe 65 EN TORY ches of the trees seemed to be falling behind us; .closing out the world to our desthny of flight, Anouther boy would howl : like the name, and ig his terrirified panting pee hands would reach out in de®per : lons Please siow this fucking thing dowm he would screem, as he tryed to tyrm off the engine or pull Buggay's foot from the gas peddtes You see Danifl, there it alll was, iInsanity,'I was a snake on the tip of d dagger, ready to be throwng The dagger was held high Danigls. High over the line of the world, the epirits were hauntings There was hunger and death and pain and excitement coming through those trees, I 4 : spit fire'as we raced through thoge living in the small sense, But they were the ones who came into the taverns we went to, Ha ha, I found we were all one in the same; earth men dressed in red, No matter how high you tried to go? Iwas the purple genie dancing beneath the moong.No doubt about it panidig I saw lives change with each turn in the roads I saw meaning disappear and reappear in an instant, Isaw joy sing and dispere rip away at the cords of the drinds. I wonder what's on the other side of that bend? At @ne hundred and twenty miles an hours, let's hope ' nothing, Ha ha, but we're, Ghost Riders in the Sky, ‘ithe boy Wolf would cry an anquished ; howl sometimes bellowing on his buckled kneesy, but he would be back each time a trip was planned, Why? Because inside he really wanted to-be a Wolf, He wanted to go beyond i yxssees

Original Scan

Page 129

AI Interpretation

GPT

At one hundred and twenty miles an hour with Bugsy singing "Ghost Riders in the Sky," the narrator remembers black mountain roads, terrified passengers, and a feverish sense that death, joy, and meaning were all flashing past in the same rush.

The language goes almost mythic here, with Bugsy, Wolf, and the speeding car turned into a little religion of risk. What matters is not mastery but the repeated urge to go past ordinary fear and touch something beyond the small life.


Claude

The West Virginia Ghost Riders road-races with Buggsy at a hundred and twenty through coal country are recalled as Michael's purple-genie phase, Wolf howling on buckled knees but coming back each time because he wanted to go beyond the pain.