Kyia...on the continued bathroom graffiti...

It little profits that a player king
At this cold place, among these barren men
Match'd with an aged rep', I receive
Unequal notes from a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and munch, and know not me.

I cannot rest from travel; I will smoke
Life to the butt. All times I have dressed
Greatly, have spoken greatly, both good and bad -
But now I am but become a name, known not
But only writ' upon the bathroom walls;
Blamed for problems small and great
For always walking with a stylish gate,
And acts unspeakable with your mom
Your food, your car, your work, your dog
All badly performed upon the balding Spot.

How dull it is to see my name
Rusting unburnish'd upon these walls!
As tho' a note were life! Note piled on note
Were all too little, what care I that you wrote
I "killed your dog," "deal drugs,"
"Crashed your only car," "peddle porn,"
Or just plain "suck"? Only one got it right:
"Kyia doesn't care about the dominant
Paradigm" - that's right, so long
As stupidity dominates I
Reject your careless, clich├ęd notes,
A few broke through the mythic bar
"Kyia eats undercooked meat" and
"Bought Stock in Enron" - those were good,
But far too few - like drops of blood
In a cold, indifferent sea. That's why
I couldn't help but soon depart
To follow my name like a sinking star
Beyond the utmost bounds of paradigms.

There lies the port; the pimpin' vessel puffs
Her sails. There gleams Ibiza far away.
I go at last and leave my name to you.
Departure closes all; but something ere the end
Some work of noble note, may yet be inked
Not unbecoming I who walked like God.
And so I leave you, ye loud anon
Made weak by time and paint, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find some clever note
Worthy of my stylish name.