"riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus or recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs...A way a lone a last a loved a long the." Finnegans Wake. James Joyce.
The story of a man arising from his funeral wake. Tim Finnegan, to be precise. A fight breaks out, a corpse exposed, the whiskey is poured over Finnegan's abode, and like a flash...he becomes. "Tim revives, see how he rises..." sing the Irish...the whole island, I mean! Phoey, I thought at first, but Wait! Stop! Might it be true that a person can rise such as Finnegan!
But I do! I do! Everyday! Sleep is but death and I arise to encounter that which is....my wake...my impending wake...the continual wake until I wake no more, for I sludge and I drudge and I toil 'till I sleep (forever).
This is my wake! This is my wake! Nice of you to attend, now please pour me a drink! Whiskey, yes (thank you!). This is my wake!