Living on Luck: Selected Letters, 1960s-1970s, Vol. 2 Book

Just a book about a guy getting progressively richer. I like how honest Bukowski is in his letters, his has no regard for who'll read them. I half think Bukowski intended to lock them up. It got so honest I almost cringed (that whole fiasco with the read haired girl really broke the macho wise old man facade).
The prose is even more loose that it normally is and it makes me more sick. Looks nice and it's partly practical but I just cant stand it. Im a conservative man when it comes to grammar despite me myself lacking it. Bukowski is absolutely terrible at drawing. His abstract stuff is the kinda shit I hate. Like that painter Pollock who just dump paint on the canvas standing up. Like his prose, it's too lose, there's no technique, no discipline. The worst kind of painting. There is some aesthetic to it, is all I can give it props to.