Free Choice

Part 1

 

‘Excuse me good Sir’ A voice called out as Darimir continued idly staring at a piece parchment, pretending not to hear the voice. Darimir had once been known as a great thinker within the walls of Minas Tirith. But after many years, many now thought that his mind had decayed into nothing, as he lived a secluded life with minimal contact with anyone but himself. His face was engraved with the signs of wisdom, he was either to be found within his home, or at this café he visited regularly. And could be seen, sitting in the same chair, with the same piece of parchment in his left hand and a quill in his right, along with a small ink bottle to the side. The parchment was now yellowed with age and the ink on the tip of his quill dry. He had yet to think of what of anything of any usefulness to write upon the paper.

His ears were still sharp as he heard the scratching of a chair leg against the paved white stone beneath his feet and realised that whoever had spoken to him was now taking a seat. Much to Darimir’s disgust. He had secluded himself from public life for a reason. Now this person was taking a seat beside him, as Darimir could hear the creaking of the wooden chair as the figure took a seat. Darimir let out an exasperated sigh and angrily place down his parchment and quill upon the wooden table. He remained looking down examining the fine grains embedded in the wood trying to ignore the arrogant person that had decided to disrupt his peace.

“I see you’ve made the choice to ignore me. I made a statement of saying excuse me good Sir, but you chose No. You chose the choice that lead to your ignoring me. When you could have chosen Yes. And choose not to ignore me. Though I now have a feeling that you shall revert to the Yes choice, and choose to speak. Isn’t that so? Or you shall at least acknowledge my presence.”

This comment from the person intrigued Darimir as he looked up from the grains embedded into the wood of the table and at the figure that was speaking to him. “Yes,” Darimir said solemnly drawing out the word, which suddenly seemed to be of great importance. Darimir now observed the figure sitting beside him. The figure was dressed in what appeared to be velvet robes lined with patterns made from golden thread. The robes that the figure was wearing looked oddly familiar though Darimir could not quite place where he had seen those robes before. The figure was well groomed and had his brown hair cut short and was quite well shaven with well defined cheekbones. A grin, common to children was upon the figure’s face.

“What purpose do you have here telling me my choices, and what is your name?” Darimir asked the person, intrigued by him.

‘My name is not important. And I’m helping your identify your choices.’

‘You can’t possibly identify all my choices for me.’

‘But I can. All choices are derived from the two true choices. All other choices are small variants upon them. Any idea what these two true choices are?’

Darimir looked blankly at the unnamed person sitting beside him. With a quick gesture the figure waved over a waiter of the café who looked shocked to see that Darimir was sitting here with company. The figure spoke silently with the waiter. Darimir strained his hearing to try and catch any of the words the figure was saying to the waiter, but he failed. As the waiter inclined her head to the unnamed figure and quickly walked away. Darimir and the figure sat in silence. It was uncomfortable to Darimir but the figure seemed to be enjoying the silence.

The waiter soon returned and placed a small saucer of tea upon the table. The smell of the drowned tealeaves and milk wafted slowly through the air. ‘I can ask you now whether you wish to have some tea. You are aware of the two choices that you now have. These two choices are the same for any situation. What are these two choices?”

“Yes, and No,” Darimir answered cautiously.

“Correct,” the figure said as the childlike grin on the figures face grew. Then the figure continued, “There is the possible third choice, if it can be called that. That so-called choice would be the ‘maybe’, or the ‘I don’t know’. But that third ‘choice’ is only an attempt at finding a form of level ground between the two choices we have been given. But the actual purpose of the third ‘choice’ is a delay in the ‘choice’ making procedure.”

“As eventually a ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ choice shall have to be made,” Darimir added, before the figure could finish.

The figure looked pleased at Darimir as Darimir surprised himself by his conclusion. Darimir’s mind was racing, as it had never been before. The figure continued grinning at Darimir as the figure leant back in the chair upon it was sitting.

“What if there was a true third choice.” Darimir said as he looked over at the figure for some form of acknowledgement, and his hands, as if controlled by a force of his own reached for his parchment and quill. The quill seemed to dip itself in the inkpot and Darimir began scribbling furiously while speaking at the same time.

“A definitive choice such as Yes or No, but we are unaware of this choice. Therefore, because this choice is unavailable to us, does that mean that we do not have free choice? Because by definition the only way we would have free will is if we had this definite alternative to the choices of either Yes or No. Then what if there was a fourth, or a fifth choice. If there is then we do not have free choice because we are confined to only these two choices, Yes or No.”

As Darimir finished both writing and speaking he looked up at the figure that was sitting beside him, but the figure was now gone. Darimir continued staring at the empty space beside him expecting the man to appear, but he did not. Shocked and confused by the whole incident Darimir gathered his belongings and left for his house, with the image of the figure and his new thoughts on choice fresh on his mind.

Scholar (Scribe)
12th June 2005

Free Choice

Part 2

Darimir lay in his bed gazing up listlessly at the pale white ceiling of his bedroom. The paint was cracked and had begun slowly peeling back. The early morning sunshine filtered through his window, with the sun casting its hazy yellow rays across Darimir’s bare chest. His bed covers lay disused in an untidy mess on the floor, he hadn’t made his bed in months since he could no longer afford a maid to do it for him. Writer’s block was a terrible thing, especially for a freelance philosophical writer such as Darimir. If he couldn’t think of any new theory to rock the philosophical world, it meant no income. He looked back sadly on his life and resented marrying one of his students when he had taught at the local college; it meant he had to resign from his post. Shame the marriage had never worked out. As the woman he was married to, broke his heart and ran away to Dol Amroth. It was a sad chapter in Darimir’s life, which he did not like to reflect upon.

 

But after resigning from his post he took to freelance writing, his reputation when he was a professor was quite large and it began to grow with each new paper he wrote and published. But as his reputation grew so did the stress, with each new paper his reputation grew, and therefore each paper would have to be better than the next. With the added stress of growing acclaim and his marriage falling to pieces Darimir was struck by a sudden onslaught of writers block. His publisher pounded him for new papers to publish, but Darimir’s mind was blank. He could think of nothing, and his income stopped. Luckily he had saved a good deal of money from his previous publications and was able to make some sort of living. But once the writers block struck him, it began to settle. Days rolled by, turning into weeks, and the weeks turning into months. And here lay the once great Darimir staring towards his white slowly cracking ceiling.

 

But that was about to change, after the encounter with the strange figure at the café. Darimir had been writing busily all week, he had been through several pieces of parchment and had finally completed his final draft of his theory on free choice. Today he would be meeting with his publisher, at the same café. Realising that time was slowly ticking away until his appointment, Darimir slowly dragged himself and his heavy limbs out of the bed and headed towards the washroom. Darimir rested his hands against the sides of the basin as he gazed up at his wearisome face in the mirror.

 

His once dark auburn brown hair was now thinning and growing lighter with a few stands of grey and white appearing in it. Darimir cursed his old age under his breath as he brought his right hand to his chin and rubbed the rough stubble growing upon his face in deep thought. Finally, after enough observing of his face he grabbed a bucket of clean water and pour some into the basin. Splashing his face with some of the cold water to wake himself up Darimir reached for his razor and shaving cream. After several minutes of careful shaving Darimir splashed his face again with the cold water and dried his face. His skin on his chin and cheek were smooth once again and his well defined cheekbones once again showed themselves. Darimir then went and cleaned the rest of himself up by taking a shower and returned to his room with a towel wrapped around his waist.

 

Slowly walking towards his closet Darimir listened to the groaning creaks of the floorboards beneath his feet as he mumbled something again about old age never doing anyone or anything any good. After gazing in the closet and sneezing several times from the dust Darimir finally came to the decision to wear his red robes. Pulling them out Darimir realised that the red robes he had pulled out were lined with patterns made of golden thread. A sense of uneasiness settled upon Darimir as he buttoned up his robe and remembered the figure he met at the café. He tried to shake it off and ignore it as he went to his desk, grabbed his final draft of his theory and left his house for the same café to meet with his publisher.

 

Darimir knew the path to the café better than most the theories he had written. It was a path he could walk even if he suddenly got struck deaf blind and dumb, at which thought he quickly touched some wood on a nearby bench so as to not tempt fate. A sparkle returned to his eye as he took his normal seat and laid down the parchment containing his theory before him. This would be gold, people would remember him now, and they would remember the name Darimir.

 

Darimir waved over on of the waiters and placed an order of a cup of tea. As he awaited his tea to arrive he could have sworn he saw a figure dart into the shadows behind one of the nearby tables. He quickly brushed off his sense of uneasiness, which he explained to himself must have been due to seeing his publisher again for the first time in several months. The tea soon arrived and was placed infront of Darimir as he paid the waiter double, for this tea and the tea the figure bought him a few days ago. The waiter cast Darimir a strange sideways glance and explained that he hadn’t ordered a tea the last time he was here and gave Darimir back the extra change before leaving.

 

Darimir placed his elbows on the table and rested his rushing head against his palms trying to make sense of it all. The smell of the drowned tea leaves and milk wafted upwards and made his throat dry as he stopped leaning against his hands and reached for the cup of tea and took a slow taste savouring the liquid as it slid down his throat. “Long time no see, stranger,” a familiar voice said as Darimir placed his cup of tea down onto the table and pushed his chair back to stand back and greet Gwanync, his publisher. “Maybe this latest work shall be able to make up for lost time,” Darimir said as he pointed to the seat beside him, ushering his publisher to take a seat.

 

Gwanync was an old man; he was older than Darimir, as all the hairs that were still remaining on Gwanync’s head were as white as the first snow falls of winter. Gwanync was quite a heavy set man who would take many deep and loud breaths and shifted uncomfortably in his seat many times. The old mans hands were wrapped around Darimir’s latest theory as he intently surveyed the contents of Darimir’s work. Darimir uneasily sipped his tea, waiting to hear what the publisher would think of his latest work. Time seemed to slow down as it felt like eternity till the old man placed down Darimir’s piece of parchment and glanced over at Darimir.

 

Darimir couldn’t believe his ears as his publisher’s mouth seemed to open and close soundlessly and Darimir sat in complete shock at the whole situation. “This is amazing work, I shall have this on the presses immediately, Darimir old chap, welcome back.” And when Darimir didn’t answer still in shock at the whole situation the publisher began to get worried. “Uh, Darimir, Darimir! Are you okay? Would you like another cup of tea? Darimir, stop staring at me like that.” Darimir finally awoke from his strange trance like state and muttered words of thanks. He quickly shook his publisher’s hand thanking him again, before quickly returning home. Darimir couldn’t believe it; he would finally be published again

Scholar (Scribe)
15th June 2005

 

 

The Trumpet

The Instrument and Its Importance Throughout History.

The Trumpet is a soprano brass instrument. Which means, that it is made to played in the highest register available to brass instruments. The Trumpet is most commonly approximately four and a half feet in tube length. The tube is folded twice into a narrow rectangular shape, approximately fourteen inches long. From this narrow rectangular shape, a piece of tubing, known as the mouth pipe extends outwards where the mouthpiece is placed. On the opposite side, an expanded opening, known as a bell extends outwards. The centre of the rectangle consists of three valves, which each have their own associated extra tubing.

The main bore of the trumpet is mostly cylindrical, much like the cornet it expands just before the bell. Most trumpets are made of brass, either lacquered or plated with silver, nickel, or very rarely gold. Other materials are occasionally used to make the whole instrument, such as silver, copper and extremely rarely gold. The reason for very rarely using gold as during a performance a trumpet heats up considerably, and it would be unwise to have a whole instrument made out of gold. For the heat would cause the gold frame of the trumpet to change, affecting the tone of the instrument.

Trumpets are available in many sizes, and named according to the pitch class they are intoned within. The most common being Bb trumpets, though occasionally in large orchestras C trumpets are used for their bright tonality. Trumpets are available in almost every key, e.g. D, Eb, F, even A. The trumpet mouthpiece is generally a shallow cupped shape, with more rounded corners surrounding the bore, also known as the throat. The tonality of the instrument is a brilliant and commanding tone.

It’s most characteristic range is from written C’ to C”. There are higher notes above this range but they are much more difficult to achieve, and there are lower tones that are more dark and grainy, to the lower tones of F#. Though, more varying and special timbres and effects can produced using various mutes in the trumpet bell.

The trumpet has a wide history. Most commonly being used as a signalling device, usually sounding only one or two tones, upon “open” notes, notes that require no fingering, the pitch of the notes is simply altered by controlling the buzzing. Trumpets have been very rarely used in music. They have remained instruments of only a few tones for signalling, announcing, commanding and ceremonial purposes. As Sam recall’s when approaching the Black Gate of Mordor to find it closed:

Day came, and the fallow sun blinked over the lifeless ridges of Ered Lithui. Then suddenly the cry of brazen-throated trumpets was heard: from the watch-towers they blared, and far away from hidden holds and outposts in the hills came answering calls; and further still, remote but deep and ominous, there echoed in the hollow land beyond the mighty horns and drums of Barad-Dur. Another dreadful day of fear and toil had come to Mordor; and the day-guards were summoned to their dungeons and deep halls, and the day-guards, evil-eyed and fell, were marching to their posts. Steel gleamed dimly on the battlements.

(Two Towers, Book 4, Chapter 3 – The Black Gate is Closed, bold emphasis)

As you can see, the trumpet is simply used to signal and announce. Commanding the day-guards to where they should be. But, you may retort, that this is in Mordor. That it is possible that in the free world trumpets may be found in orchestras and such, for the purpose of music making. Though, the main role of the trumpet is still on the battlefield. As during the Muster of Rohan:

A single trumpet sounded. The King raised his hand, and then silently the host of the Mark began to move.

(Return of the King, Book 4, Chapter 3 – The Muster of Rohan, bold emphasis)

The question can be asked, that maybe it is because of the trumpets bright, vibrant and commanding sound that it has been most commonly used militaristically? That is a true statement, for, the size of trumpet allows it to be carried easily and yet, it produces a greater sound than all other instruments of its kind. Another variation of the trumpet may be more familiar and in much more consistent use for commanding in the military – the horn. The Horn of Gondor.

Though, as of late the Trumpet has come to find itself as part of orchestras, and used more widely to make music. Fanfares have become popular place in music, as the trumpet takes on the role of commanding the orchestra, as it did with soldiers in battle. The long F trumpet has been given up in favour of the shorter-valved Bb and C trumpets for use in music making. As these two trumpets create a more brilliant sound and are somewhat easier to play accurately. The cornet is also falling out of use as musicians favour the brilliant sound of Trumpet over the somewhat duller Cornet.

 

Scholar (Scribe)
10th July 2005

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