Mark Baumer tried to get funds on Kickstarter to write 50 books in one year. It didn’t get funded. He’s writing them anyway and releasing them one at a time. You can read them online and you can buy them.

Boy with One Good Lip

Mark Baumer tried to get funds on Kickstarter to write 50 books in one year. It didn’t get funded. He’s writing them anyway and releasing them one at a time. You can read them online and you can buy them. I love Mark Baumer. - Blake Butler

Boy with One Good Lip The emotional animal within all of us The Global Struggle of Dead Milk The Soft Cheese That Had a Cold Heart The Man Living Inside a Zoo Elephant The Trauma of Eating a Celebrity A Girl Who Was Too Big For Childhood What it Feels Like to Cry With Your Brain The Person That Hurt Their Keyboard The Adverse Effects of Dying The Toad That Thought it Was a Giant Baby The Corporate Structure's Nephew The First Time I ate Lunch The Increase of Stress Among Adult Poops The Man Who Lived Inside His Sons The Girl Who was Lucky to Have Feet A Weather Balloon on Saturn Someone Who Did Something The Mouse Eggs I bought at RadioShack The Girl Who Said, Bless You, After She Yawned The People Who Tried But Couldn't The Guy in Court Who Had Pee On His Butt The Computer Made Out of Yarn and Feta Cheese A Milk That Drank An Infant The Remote Control Inside My Ability To Love The Money I Can't Use In My Bank Account The Beeping Noise at the End of That Movie The Blind Cats That Needed Money The Thing I Forgot Only Being Thirty Percent Married The Soup Broth That Liked to Wear Scarves The Lamp That Slept in a Water Bed How to Put a Boot in a Ship Made of Teeth The Powerful Mold Rainbow How to Nourish the Unborn Desires of Thought The Guy With Two Crossbows The Day I Died and Left America The Artificial Growth Inside my Childhood that Tried to Smile The Last Eleven Presidents of The United States The Bad Man Who Was Not Good at Math When My Butt Dried After I Got Pee on it I Thought My Butt Was Dry but it Wasn't The Ornament That is Nice and Licks Me The Books Keep Getting Worse and Worse The Time I Swallowed My Spit The Shrimp Implants That Live in My Eyebrows The Man Who Got a Face Job With His Face The Movie That Was Almost Over Maybe The Sequel to the Movie that was Almost Over Maybe A Blade of Grass that Enjoyed Making Pottery

The Emotional Animal Within All of Us
a book about the emotional animal with all of us

There is an emotional animal in all of us. It has three legs. The toe on its third leg does not look like a toe. It looks like a toy giraffe. The toy giraffe has a secretary. Her name is "mittens." Business people will probably be interested in becoming friends with the secretary named "mittens" who lives on the toy giraffe that is really a toe on the third leg of your emotional animal.

The emotional animal in everyone was born from a consciousness which exists inside all humans who somehow evolved from inorganic dead materials on a planet inside a universe that was created from nothing.

Not only do humans have eyeballs and feelings, but the emotional animals inside humans also have eyeballs and feelings.

A famous doctor once imagined that the emotional animal inside of him was a swan. He spent the majority of his research years asking his colleagues if their emotional animals were swans too. Slowly, he began to understand that none of his colleagues or anyone he'd ever met had a swan as an emotional animal inside them. He thought about publishing his findings in a book titled "All the feelings I've ever felt live inside the only swan that's ever lived inside my emotions," but instead he decided that everyone's emotional animal is a unique creature that is not similar to anything else on earth and that his emotional animal wasn't actually a swan but was a living, breathing, emotional object similar to what he would have been if he had dressed up like a swan for halloween when he was six years old.

Throughout recorded history, men and women have tried very hard to smell the emotional animal in each other.

The fundamental question we must ask all emotional animals is whether or not they also have emotional animals inside them.

I subscribe to the theory that all emotional animals have emotional animals inside of them. Each emotional animal inside of us is filled with an infinite number of emotional animals.
In a dream once, I was holding my emotional animal in my hand because it was a grapefruit. I began to peel the grapefruit. There was a grapefruit inside this grapefruit. I peeled the grapefruit that was inside the grapefruit. There was another grapefruit. I peeled this new grapefruit. I continued to find more grapefruits. I spent the remainder of this dream's existence finding new grapefruits inside grapefruits. After thirty billion years of peeling grapefruits inside grapefruits I finally asked one of the grapefruits if there was an end to the grapefruits. The emotional animal in the form of a grapefruit that I was holding said, "It's probably all grapefruits from here on out."

After a person becomes aware of their emotional animal it is difficult to imagine ever living life without an emotional animal which in itself is one of the fundamental reasons why it is so important to be aware of our emotional animals.

In addition to the emotional animals that live inside all of us, there are unemotional pieces of lint that get wedged into creases of our heart muscle.

It is impossible to describe the physical shape and color of your emotional animal to someone else.

Throughout history it's been generally accepted that humans would be worse off as a species if they did not have consciousness, but I would like to argue that if humans evolved to a point where they never had to think again then our emotional animals would probably naturally learn to exist outside of our bodies and in general humans would be more emotionally happy because their emotional animals would be physical objects that they could hug and kiss.

Even though there are an infinite number of emotional animals inside of me they do not have the ability to exist forever. With every new thought I create, large numbers of emotional animals die, mutate, and run away while this new thought I've created gives birth to an infinite number of its own emotional animals that will someday die, mutate, or run away.

As an exercise, I turned into a goldfish and experienced my entire life as if I was a goldfish.

In the prehistoric age that ended at some point last night, humans used to sell their emotional animals to other people.

The concept of an emotional animal exists beyond the field of science because I learned how to do math inside a school built out of fried chicken.

The soap residue on the ceiling of the bathroom inside my toy giraffe's secretary's apartment has developed a form of stomach cancer that eats emotional animals.

For a long time, I ate a pile of leaves every thanksgiving because my emotional animal told me it wished it lived inside a boy that lived inside an oak tree's emotional animal.

It is possible that humans will never be able to understand their own emotional animals because their emotional animals are too complex. This is not a criticism of humans. Very few machines or systems understand themselves. Computers do not have the ability to recognize the nature of their buttons. The basketball offensive system known as the "triangle" does not realize that it is a group of sweaty men who are trying to defeat another group of sweaty men. I once had a computer who thought it was a piece of carrot cake that I had found wedged in the armpit of a rusty swan. The triangle offensive basketball system believes it is a mustache on the face of an american general whose emotional animal is a lima bean that practices Buddhism.

Scientists will never comprehend even the daily routines of an emotional animal, let alone the sophisticated general needs of its consciousness and its inner desire to eat every thought that has ever existed inside humans.

The emotional animal inside the secretary named "mittens" who works for the toy giraffe that exists in the toe of the third leg of everyone's emotional animal thinks it's a butterfly.

My emotional animal emailed me today and said, "Thank you for letting everyone put their ice cream in my hair. I bought an ice cream comb from a guy wearing a hat. He said the comb has a limited warranty. I am going to meet him at the circus tonight. He said he was going to give me an elephant the size of a kernel of popcorn."

An ape the size of a cubic millimeter crawled out from the mouth of my toy giraffe's flamingo girlfriend.
I rented an automaton from the local pharmacy when the emotional animal inside of me went on vacation.

The fruit flies that gave birth to the tiny dinosaur that lives inside my urethra are capable of fairly sophisticated behaviors. They understand the pleasure I experienced when I discovered an electron in the crusted piece of milk I found at the bottom of something that looked like the deepest canyon in the world, but was really my emotional animal dressed up like a fluorescent disco melon.

First thing to remember about emotional animals is that they have a large amount of brain tissue in their armpits. Second thing to remember is that the vivid taste of their existence cannot be swallowed. Third, and most important is that all emotional animals are basically yellow stationary clouds that have been consumed by the swirling blue dolphins that live somewhere beneath your retina and these dolphins can make you blind if you look at yourself the wrong way in a mirror.

A few days ago, I thought my emotional animal was an octopus, but then I realized my emotional animal was just an emotional animal and I haven't thought about my octopus since.

After I feed my emotional animal a grain of rice it starts acting like a pork dog that has been on vacation inside its own butt for one billion years.

Two thirds of my emotional animal lives in forebrain. The forebrain consists of the neocortex, the basal ganglia, the hippocampus, an amygdale, an olfactory bulb, and the thalamus. One eighth of my emotional animal lives in my kneecap. The rest of my emotional animal shifts to various parts of my body on a daily basis and gives me the strength to believe that my entire body is an emotional animal.

The guy next to me on the bus a few months ago told me not to press my emotional animal on his spinal cord while he chewed his gum. I apologized. He began having a niggling debate with his own toe about the exact definition of consciousness and whether or not his spinal cord could in fact be conscious.

Scientists must reevaluate every form of data they've ever discovered. I once saw a scientist scratch the eyebrow on his helicopter. A few days later, the volcano near the science factory yawned. All the scientists got scared and threw their emotional animals into the top of the volcano.
The idea of emotional animals became so obvious to me that I fell in love with them before I even knew very much about emotional animals. I never realized that emotional animals contain all the same flaws that humans do, but by the time all these flaws were apparent, my love for emotional animals was strong enough to infinitely bond me to my emotional animals.

Before I discovered the emotional animal inside of me I thought I only had one physical organ. I have since learned that none of my organs are physical and that my thoughts will exist longer than any individual piece of my body because the emotional animals inside me are like a fever that rubbed themselves on crops of wheat cheese that will eventually be consumed by the entire world.

The sensory organs in my brain went for a walk yesterday. Near the local deli, one of my sensory organs pointed at an object that it thought was an emotional animal. The object was not an emotional animal. It was a pile of household waste. My sensory organs told me to eat this pile of waste before someone else thought it was an emotional animal and tried to kill it.

Emotional animals are a gargantuan and complex assemblage of nonlinear processing elements.

The daily minutiae of reality does not believe in emotional animals. Most individual forms of daily minutiae of reality are upset at the rest of the world because they grew up in privileged households, but when they turned fourteen their dad sold their household to a crippled satellite that had essentially forgotten how to float.

An emotional animal began climbing a pile of flamingos that were cradled in the palm of a secretary who was standing in a petri dish being observed under a microscope by a video camera whose feed was broadcast to the deepest point of the only lake that exists in Kansas. When the emotional animal reached the top of this pile of flamingos it yelled, "Even though I cherish the idea of being able to sense color I understand that these abilities are a construct of my nervous system and that all colors, even the blue and red colors, don't even exist in the world."

A person can survive without their emotional animal, but only in a vegetative state, without awareness.
Every plausible theory regarding emotional animals must be based on the neurons that live in the kind of human brains who like to talk about the off-limit areas of their bodies when they are at parties inside three-inch-tall whales.
For the most part, our emotional animals have been evolving independently from humans for the past thirty billion years.

The neocortical cells in everyone's brain look like tiny assholes. Sometimes emotional animals live inside these tiny asshole cell structures.

Emotional animals are responsible for all inter-spatial communication in the brain and are sometimes the only means of conveying messages from the villagers who live in the brain to the outside world. In short, from time to time, our emotional animals have access and control of every noise hole that we have ever breathed thoughts from.

Only a small fraction of emotional animals (somewhere between three hundred and eight hundred million) are made up of neurons that no longer exist on earth.

The world is a baby that does not know how to care for its emotional animal so it pokes itself in the eyeball until it believes it can no longer feel emotions.

In the late 1970s, a woman who thought she was a secretary inside a toy giraffe discovered that if you dress your emotional animal up like a mountain of data resembling a human blob that it will get the discount price at the local old creamy buffet.

It has recently, become trendy for people to talk about nurturing their emotional animals as a way to achieve higher consciousness, but for many of these people, higher consciousness has little to do with the growth of their metaphorical state and the nurturing of their emotional animals is rather a way to literally abuse the physical parts of their bodies that they believed have been weakened because they are overcrowded by too many emotional animals.

Sometimes it will be years before I come across someone with a wall outlet installed at the back of their mouth.

Before I was ready to acknowledge my emotional animal, it would wake up at five a.m. every morning and go wait in a McDonalds parking lot for me to pick it up.

Someday I would like to know my emotional animal in an intimate manner and do so without blushing. And later, when I tell someone about this intimate moment, I would still like to not blush.

Regardless of what happens in terms of the internet and digital technology, emotional animals will always be the nerve center and backbone of the universe.

I can't tell which emotional animal is sleeping in my neck at the moment.

The first time I broke a bone I worried that all my emotional animals were dying.

All the emotional animals in my body are tired and they keeping yelling, "My butt is empty because I just pooped on someone's brain."

This book was written on June 4th and 5th 2012, but it was born and copyrighted in 1983 when a penguin stole my mother and impregnated my father with a kitten.
Originally published by a living dove I once bought from a man too tired to sell me his yawn sweat.ISBN-13: 978-0615653990 ISBN-10: 0615653995 
At night, all the emotional animals in my eyelids like to rub their armpits on my brain. Everyone should believe everything. On my last birthday, one billion years ago, a marmalade cracker wiped his cream on my friend's butt crack.

Mark Baumer: Yachts