It wasn’t healthy for young strong American feminist brain-dead consumers to be reading the works of uhm … that woman-hating guy. Of the many columns and blurbs here, there is one about a party and the time Bukowski met Neal Cassady.

Whether he is drinking while writing his stories and poetry, or showing up to work and meetings already drunk, every story incorporates his vigorous drinking habits. Bukowski mixes his prose with personal anecdotes and downright ridiculous absurdity, like a train wreck of thought.As with the story of Neal Cassady, there is something profoundly swift in the way it opens up the wounds of humanity, to drain the infection.

His lack of publishing success at this time caused him to give up writing in 1946 and spurred a ten-year stint of heavy drinking.A little bit less gay bar action would have been nice for me personally but I don’t think anyone delicate or easily offended would read Bukowski past his introduction.