Consider first this small extract from the original Death and Dr Hornbook by Robert Burns, written in 1785 (Source: BBC)
Ev’n them he canna get attended, Altho’ their face he ne’er had kend it, Just shite in a kail-blade, an’ sent it, As soon’s he smells ‘t, Baith their disease, and what will mend it, At once he tells ‘t.
Re-interpretation and translation by Derek Morrison (2017)
Now death is circling overhead Physician cannot reach his bed Although patient he has never seen Sends specimen for expert screen He smells the foetid mass and smiles No death gateway here; only piles.
But embedded in the bowels of Burns’ satirical poem – which on the surface is about a doctor cheating death by employing, apparently, an 18th century version of telemedicine – lies a more serious matter. The polemic in the commentary section highlights this [select Continue Reading].
Fake News comes the Trumpet call The faithful hear, they are in thrall Wield Fake News to smite them down For He now wears the media crown Apprentice star emits searing light Troublesome truths now burning bright Only He could fix all that was wrong For His people need a leader strong So Russian Bear now declared no thug Ursine brothers now embrace and hug.
And it’s Id and Ego who must be hired While the unbelievers must be fired Let ‘Art of the Deal’ the people inspire By spectral author not the artful liar Fake News press ‘enemy number one’ For they frustrate what must be done Fake News is what His people hears So filter messages and close their ears No briefings here for the media club He will forge his own fortress hub.
Like like some dark lord in his Tower From stormy skies He builds his power Summons lightning bolts to make a hit On all those ‘others’ who just don’t fit But yet it was He that took the prize As mainstream media cast their eyes On the actors playing by older rules Rejecting He from different schools And so Fake News plays useful part A fearsome weapon for spinner’s art.
So ‘wrong’ truths to false become recast Impervious armour against enemy blast For He knows how to ‘drain the swamp’ Assault their truths, proclaim His pomp Globalisation’s losers new Lords seek For the ‘deplorables’ see a future bleak And an ‘elite’ class sneering in contempt Until ‘deplorables’ let their anger vent Only their Apprentice star felt their pain From declining futures of excluded gain.
So new narratives found receptive ears Post-truth prescriptions to allay all fears The Fox now shaping the Trumpet notes Sound Spicy tweets to reach His votes By claiming conspiracies by the score That need rooting out from the core Defining new enemies of the State Let Him remake the country great Fake News comes the Trumpet call The faithful heard, He has the ball.
