Trevor, I'm going to briefly connect poetics to philosophy in order to break down the old barriers between them that have been there since Plato. I want to open up a space that we can call experimental writing in order to blend the writing of philosophy and literature.

I'm going to be brief as it is Melbourne Cup day and Australia is in a carnivalesque mood.

Do not poets, novelists and philosophers in one way or another deal with language? Do they not, as writers, have a particular use of, or attitude towards language, that connects them and excludes others. Should we not then look at the way we use language?

Some remarks on junk for code provide a useful starting point. The relevant passage says:

"So a gap opens up between our photographic language, the structure of our lived experience and social reality in a nihilistic modernity. What becomes significant is the difference between sign and thing, the difference between language and reality and the difference between meaning and experience."

That seems to me to be the model of language assumed by most analytic philosophers in their actual writing practice. They do even think in terms of the problem of style. They are in deep bondage to the scientific picture of textual production and interpretation structured around axiomatic deductive systems stated in mathematical terms. We get the voice of impersonal, disemboded reason with its dream for universality and neutrality. We end up with a philosophical formalism that is disconnected from life.

I recall Hegel's acid remarks against a schematizing formalism in the Preface to the Phenomenology of Spirit They are well worth reading. Hegel says

'The instrument for producing this monotonous formalism is no more difficult to handle than the palette of a painter, on which lie only two colours, [110] say red and green, the former for colouring the surface when we want a historical piece, the latter when we want a bit of landscape. It would be difficult to settle which is greater in all this, the agreeable ease with which everything in heaven and earth and under the earth is plastered with that botch of colour, or the conceit that prides itself on the excellence of its means for every conceivable purpose; the one lends support to the other. What results from the use of this method of sticking on to everything in heaven and earth, to every kind of shape and form, natural and spiritual, the pair of determinations from the general schema, and filing everything in this manner, is no less than an "account as clear as noonday" of the organized whole of the universe. It is, that is to say, a synoptic index, like a skeleton with tickets stuck all over it, or like the rows of boxes kept shut and labelled in a grocer's stall; and is as intelligible as either the one or the other. It has lost hold of the living nature of concrete fact; just as in the former case we have merely dry bones with flesh and blood all gone, and in the latter, there is shut away in those boxes something equally lifeless too.' (para 111)

The mirror model of language also appears to be the concern of the Language poets in relation to the way it is presupposed by the voice poets.

Hence the need for experimental kind of writing.
Such as?

The above linked article by George Hartley offers this paragraph by William Carlos Williams from Kora in Hell:

"How smoothly the car runs. This must be the road. Queer how a road juts in. How the dark catches among those trees! How the light clings to the canal! Yes, there's one table taken, we'll not be alone. This place has possibilities. Will you bring her here? Perhaps---and when we meet on the stair, shall we speak, say it is some acquaintance---or pass silent? Well, a jest's a jest but how poor this tea is. Think of a life in this place, here in these hills by these truck farms. Whose life? Why there, back of you. if a woman laughs a little loudly one always thinks that way of her. But how she bedizens the country-side. Quite an old world glamour. if it were not for-but one cannot have everything. What poor tea it was. How cold it's grown. Cheering, a light is that way among the trees. That heavy laugh! How it will rattle these branches in six weeks' time." (Imaginations, 37)

Does not this concern with style and the body of the text connect us back to Georges Bataille and Walter Benjamin? And to Nietzsche's style with its hyperbole, undeciderability of meaning, resistance to paraphrase etc? Does it not also connect us to Derrida and his concerns about philosophical writing qua writing?