Which is taken as a description of Joyce's procedures in the Wake:
We drames our dreams tell Bappy returns. And Sein annews...
Joyce has surely not surrendered anything. His refusal is to create a refuse from the past. The macaronic and the grotesque mediate all of Joyce's positions, and especially the imposture of patriarchy:
...a fadograph of a yestern scene...
One cannot assign to Joyce the neat solution of overcoming the death of God in the symbolic order of language and culture. In Joyce, the Imaginary Order is consigned to a mythos of past and place. The construction or fabrication is not an effort to create some primordial unity to be compared to the insatiable desire-as-lack of the patriarchal symbolic order. The thematics of the fallen patriarchy is dissolved and liquidated in the jouissance of the lapses of language. As Lacan would have it, the verbal slip is the radical facet of the non-meaning which all meaning possesses.
There is no providential order in which Joyce operates a critique, nor does he seek to paper over the void or the existential anguish created by the nihilism of the subjective fiat of creating language. If anything, there is only a piling up of catastrophe. One should not seek to negotiate the hallucinative process of the Wake as appearances which are distantly related either to the compulsion of being a subject as character, or constituting presences.
Indeed talking about the Wake may well only be possible as a via negativa. Where in Lacan the dissolution of the subject is sited in the scopic and constituting gaze, and the Other of the symbolic order is routed through the masquerade (the woman) requiring thus the need for fictions and stories narrated in the form 'as-as,' that is the implicit acceptance of a necessary subjection to the Other, Joyce releases the servitude by the free movement to the ear and the organizing of desire, grammar, the whole paradox of the phallic pantomime, where the Other posing as lack pretends to have lost what wasn't in order to sustain a belief in what isn't that can be discovered, is annihilated in the mobile and amphibology of Joyce's punning fabrications. The endless circulation of significations embroil the reader in a collusive and fictive enterprise.6
Or, as Lacan has it, when the space of a lapsus no longer carries any meaning (or interpretation), then only is one sure that one is in the unconscious. One knows. Truth is made up of ideas. It is, as in Benjamin's Trauerspiel,7 the poetic that determines the essence as name. Thus, the proof of approach is complete immersion and absorption, and in that sense the purpose of the representation of the idea is no less than an abbreviated outline of the image of the world, where the labial apparitions endorse this as metaphor. The paradise of perfect jouissance is where the struggle of communicative significance of words is not necessary.