Obnoxiously abstract poetry. Like Gertrude Stein took up arms and declared war on grammar and linguistics upon the English language, except it was all a big mess. Not even a hot mess, just a mess, full stop. Or, it was like a dog went and smashed its face against the keyboard of its owner's laptop, and the owner went "By God, this is genius. I am going to publish this drivel, Dog, and I will take credit for the concussion you just sustained."
There was one excerpt from the chapter titled "The Woman in the Chinese Room" I really liked, however: "In this story to describe roundness you may have to think about a square you may have to retreat from decorum or just spell it out phonetically you may have to find an Oriental Jesus with a vertical smile you may have to calculate the rectilinear coordinates of a blue duskless mountain with the distance of a female Faust."
Overall verdict: Never reaching for a random book off the university library shelf again. Even if the cover employs the pristine use of neon-colored fonts.