Revolutionary-guerillia-anarchist poetry reading and subsequent run-in with the police

My apologies for my severe lack of blogging this past week... like anyone actually reads this anyway (comments, anyone?!) But something happened truly blog-worthy on Sunday night, so I was pretty stoked.

Sunday night was the secret revolutionary-anarchy poetry reading, orchestrated by our dear John K. We were told to gather in an undisclosed location for a night of true revolution, to commemorate the destruction of a much-beloved BYU building. We planned to read our poems, then write them all over the walls of the doomed building. Told to travel in groups of one or two, I set off alone, soon joining up with two of my friends at the location. Although the door was supposedly open, we still thought it would be hardcore to climb through a broken window. We traversed the building, wandering up stairs, down stairs, through dark corridors and duct-taped rooms. For a while we were lost, but we finally made it to our meeting place in the old Mathematics portion of the building, past the old campus mailboxes. A group was gathered, and the spirit of the revolution was most definitely present. We were eager to perform our ritual, a little glimpse of rebellion in our otherwise mundane existence. However, we had not been in the room longer than 5 minutes when the BYU "police" ran in, throwing JK up against a wall and shouting at us that we were trespassing and breaking a law. We were told this was a misdemeanor, punishable by 6 months imprisonment or a $1000 fine. A hush fell over all, and the worry set in. I was sure we'd be arrested, carted off to the underground BYU jail where they torture the liberals and other non-conformists into submission. The civil disobedience in all of us faltered, as thoughts of Harvard Law School or Stanford business school flashed through our minds. We followed the officer's instructions to a tee, being incredibly polite and unfailingly honest. They took all of our names, IDs, and called in for background checks, while the posse of poser-revolutionaries sat in circles, disappointed in our severe lack of ability to break free of the system that maintains a tight grip on our futures. In the end, we were issued a warning, meaning that if we ever attempt to break into an abandoned building in Utah County ever again in our whole lives, then we'd be arrested and most likely given community service. JK suggested next time we go to Salt Lake.

The best moment of the evening: the policewoman reciting a Shel Silverstein poem she memorized with her son, and the policeman reciting his poem about an albatross he submitted in 10th grade to a competition. We got our poetry, but not quite the revolution we were seeking.