Sousveillance is
surveillance from underneath; when we serfs and peasants hear what our lords
and masters really think. For instance:
To
the tune of Dixie: “In Wall Street land we’ll take our stand, said Morgan and
Goldman. But first we better get some loans, so quick, get to the Fed, man.”
I forgive his failed
attempt at humor; for humor is subjective. What sounds like gentle mockery of
failure to one's friends might sound like arrogant callousness to the victims
of those failures. He had enough self-awareness to attempt this jest in
private; but then sousveillance struck.
I also forgive his untuned
singing voice. Not everybody has the gift; and those who don't must spend
10,000 hours practicing to attain expertise.
But I
do not forgive his rhymes, nor do I forgive his scansion. If he can count megabucks, then he can
count syllables. He should not give up his day job.
Or
maybe he should. Maybe he should quit banking, move to a cheap small room, and
there spend 10,000 hours learning how to write a poem. At 8 hours a day, 5 days
a week, 2 days vacation per month, that's only about 5.3 years. He could afford
that, easy.
It would
be like a short prison term, even though bad poetry is not, technically, a
crime. For him to voluntarily confine himself at hard labor for bad poetry
would be poetic justice; but also a fantasy, for he and his friends have
avoided being ‘guests of the State’ for far worse misdeeds.
Literary critique
aside... I see in his song a reconciliation of Northern and Southern power
systems. At last Wall Street and the Plantation are one. It's not about wage labor,
nor about chattel slavery; they met in the middle at debt serfdom.
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