The crater-faced legend of a brawler poet is interesting for about five minutes and then begins to look to me exactly like a poseur. He would have knocked me down and stepped on my head for saying so. But it doesn't make a bit of difference. The guy had lots of marvelous talent, but he was a bullshitter. Anyone who mentions bullfighting and Ernest Hemingway in the same breath on camera is bullshitting somebody in a big way.
Drinking, bars, dumb women, fights and horse races are a tiresome brew and this man lived at the bottom of the bowl. Sometimes you just have to be willing to admit in the final analysis that F. Scott Fitzgerald was the real man all along. Hemingway was the poof. It's always the guy wearing the boxing gloves that you need to put the lipstick on.
Bukowski the bullshit artist. Enjoy.