Dear You,


 You are a horse. Your chest bulges with muscles.  Your hooves smatter established pasture like iron  pistons. So naturally one wonders: why the lead  saddle packs? The answer no one would guess,  because they cant see youre a keen equine. They can  only see your rusting shoes. They couldnt ever see  behind the scenes, how you coddled your master into  draping heavier and heavier weights on your back.  He logically hesitated but you threatened him with the  glue factory.

 They would never guess that this tragic waste was something of your own creation, something you  decided on simply because of the flavor of your first  carrot which still mystifies you even to this day. You  want these massive lead cases to replace my weight.  If you didnt have this disease, I wouldnt be here  today.

 Where am I? I trudge through wild sands. I was built to carry even with a parched mouth - but I  won't. Ive escaped my master and Im willing to die  to stay away from him. These shifting dunes are my  home, and as wretched as they are I adore them.

 I thank you deeply though I dont understand you - this prize horse sauntering slower than the moon - the leaden, battered moon.

 In the future please send me more tautologous and  cryptic writings - without them Id fade into  anonymity. I love you deeply and puzzle over you  often.




 Your son,


 A camel.

 2006/12 Nanjing

Explanation of "Taunt no.2"

Taunt no.1