Soap again. Limited time.

Only posting the links here because my tumblr won't host the buttons.

All orders come with a free Deadxstop Arcade 22oz tumbler.

10oz. Ultra-concentrated. Vegan-friendly / no animal ingredients.
No Alcohol. No Mineral Oil. No Sodium Laryl Sulfate. Hypo-Allergenic. 2 year shelf life.

Kitten Breath: Smells like strawberries and cotton candy.
Ian Curtis: Fresh and clean smell.

2pack Shakur.

the kitten/curtis - S3

Single bottles.

kitten breath - S1

Ian Curtis - S2

photo 1-2

Hard Feelings - presale.

This is for the pre-sale of Hard Feelings - 200 pages filled with 90 of the best inspirational writings I have done of the past five years. So I put together a few ordering options to make this a little more interesting.

- The first option is for the book.
- The second option is for the Dirt of an Electric Boy audio cd download part 2. (if you didn't know the Dirt of an Electric Boy was the first thing I ever released, DXS001, and was a series of spoken word tracks. This is the follow-up of 10 spoken word tracks taken from Hard Feelings)
- The third option is for the signed book, the hand-signed poster, the Dirt of an Electric Boy cd download, and I will painstakingly hand-write any full passage from Hard Feelings or any other book I have written. I am limiting this to only 10 - otherwise I will want to cut off my hand.

- Any of the first 50 orders will come with a hand-numbered and signed poster. POSTER SOLD OUT!
- The first 200 books will come hand-signed and dated.
- Books will ship the third week of January.
- The audio cd will be emailed as a download.
- The hand-written passages will be mailed in a rolled tube.

Now start begging your loved ones to buy this for you as a late-Christmas gift. They can print out the paypal receipt as your present.

Screen Shot 2013-12-23 at 11.42.55 PM



Excerpt from the new book: 1800 Miles To Nowhere.

" ...

Then, there was the time in Radford, Virginia.
We just played the James Madison University date of the Ska Against Racism tour and met a nice couple named Joe and Star who lived together in Radford, about 130 miles away from the show in Harrisonburg. We were pretty desperate for a place to stay, so we were willing to drive the two hours south toward our next show and avoid staying in a hotel. Since we needed to stay until the end of the show to load our merchandise and couldn’t afford to shut it down early, lest we lose a CD or t-shirt sale, Joe and Star were going to start the drive early and head back to Radford. They both needed to be up early for work, but they gave us directions and their house phone to call. What they didn’t give us was the house number or street name. Just a cross street, the fact that the house was on the north corner, and said the front door would be unlocked. For a bunch of dudes who grew up in New York, that final detail was a little odd since everyone locked their door. It was also 1998, so no one had one of those handy phone computers with maps built in. Even the giant atlas we kept on the dashboard of our van didn’t have Radford in it, let alone a detailed map of the neighborhood we were driving to. Those were the days of urban and rural touring pioneers.
Joe and Star headed back to Radford in their sticker-covered Toyota Corolla and we told them we would see them in a few hours. They said to not worry if it seemed like they were sleeping. They told us to just come in, make ourselves comfortable, and that we were welcome to whatever was in the fridge.
After a long drive, one where we nearly hit a deer head-on, we arrived in their neighborhood. Small town America doesn’t offer much in the way of streetlights. Every house seemed equally dark at that hour and it was difficult to navigate the streets without our high beams turned on. We reached the intersection Joe and Star gave us and saw their Toyota Corolla parked on the street.
“This one here. This is it.”
There was some hesitation to get out of the van, mainly because after a long day of driving, playing a show, most likely drinking dozens of beers, and then driving again another two hours later, everyone was either sleeping or moving with no real motivation to gather their belongings and get inside the house. David, our dancing trumpet player/tour manager, and I took the initiative to go inside. With no indication on whether it actually was the house we were supposed to arrive at, we were relieved to find the front door unlocked, just like Joe and Star said. Like I said earlier, it was odd to people who grew up with mistrust of their neighbors like we had, but not that weird to people who lived in places like Radford, Virginia.
“The door is unlocked. We should start bringing stuff in. The lights are out though, so they’re probably asleep. We should try to be kind of quiet,” I told the guys.
When we entered the house, I noticed the coldness first. It was right before Thanksgiving and we weren’t exactly in the deep South, so turning the heat on would have been nice. It was colder than it should have been for two people to be sleeping in, let alone the whole band. “Beggars can’t be choosers,” I thought. My first thought should have been, “Beggars should question things.”
The next thing we all noticed was how much of a disaster the place was. Two couches were piled high with boxes and random junk. The dining room table was also stacked with books and papers. Dishes, utensils, a dog dish with food spilling out and no indication of a dog, and just general filth were strewn about. It seemed odd that Joe and Star, who seemed so nice and presentable, lived in a pile of filth and grossness. Maybe they had shitty roommates? Maybe they were hoarders? Alarms should have been going off, but we were all too tired to rationalize what was happening. Everyone was getting into sleeping bags and bundling up for the cold night ahead. Everyone lined up on what little floor space wasn’t covered with a bunch of garbage, cracked a bunch of jokes about racism beating ska, and drifted off into incredibly uncomfortable sleep. Everyone except David and me.
I couldn’t sleep because of the cold and figured if I was going to freeze, I should do it in the van. David sat outside on the steps. I piled my stuff back into the van and tried to settle in, but something just seemed so off about what was happening. I looked out the window and saw David looking through the overflowing mailbox.
I went back outside to see what he was looking through the mail for. I already knew what was happening before I even made it all the way to the steps to ask him.
“None of this mail says Joe or Star on it,” he said.
My heart raced in the most comical fashion. Whose fucking house was it?
“Everybody up! We’re in the wrong house!”
The commotion of us yelling, opening and closing the door, clamoring about the house, and stomping around should have woken up our hosts, even if briefly to say hello. We realized that the strange practice of leaving the front door unlocked also extended to houses that were unoccupied.
We opened the doors to all of the other rooms in the house to find no one. There were unmade beds, clothes strewn about, and half eaten food. No sign of our hosts whatsoever. In the chaos of discovering that we were alone in the house, a few of the guys opened the fridge to find nothing but a few unopened beers. The toilet was full of shit that wasn’t flushed. None of the lights even turned on. Either the electricity was cut off in the dump or all of the light bulbs blew out.
Everyone made a beeline for the van with all of their stuff. It would have been angering if it wasn’t the most insane, hilarious thing to ever happen to our band. If not for David’s uneasy feeling about where we were, we probably would have squatted the entire night in a cold house where the electricity was turned off and no one lived. As we turned the van around to head back to the highway, we noticed a house with a small light on in the front window. Nice floral print curtains separated to reveal what appeared to be a dining room table with a bowl and vase full of flowers on it. Out of curiosity, we stopped to look at what we realized was a note taped to the front door.
“Hi guys. Sorry we couldn’t stay up, but feel free to make yourself at home. There are cookies on the table – Joe and Star.”
It was closing in on 6 a.m., so we decided to skip it. We needed to get ourselves back up at 8 a.m. to start our drive to the next venue, so we wanted to just start the drive and get a hotel in the next city. The thought crossed my mind to go in and grab the cookies, but it would have been impossible to explain why the cookies were gone but we hadn’t stayed.
We stayed for more than an hour in a stranger’s home. Because of the state of the house, and the fact that we left it exactly as it was - a complete fucking disaster - no one probably ever knew we stayed there. So, if my story seems to fit the description of your house in Radford, Virginia in 1998, sorry about taking those last two beers out of your fridge.
After a night like that, I kind of needed them."


The power of a single mom.

I watched the red tail lights zoom away from our house and fade into the evening darkness. I looked back at my mother who was holding herself up as if she was holding down the dining room table and I could see she was doing her best to steady the tears from falling.

"Mom, just tell him to leave and never come back."

"Oh honey, I wish it was that simple."

"We’re better off without him."

Or at least that’s how I think the conversation went.

Years later, I overheard a teacher say to Mr. Gove, our middle school Dean, “Well, he probably looks and acts like that because there is no father at home.”

And as a 13 year old budding punk rock kid, what I wanted to say - no, what I wanted to YELL was, “THIS is what happens when you watch drug deals from the back seat of a car. THIS is what happens when someone you trust abuses you. THIS is what happens when you are forced to watch addiction ruin a family.” I wanted to walk up to that teacher, that educator of young minds, and say, “If you think this is bad, imagine what I would be like if he was around long enough to do some serious damage.” But I didn’t because I was too young and I didn’t have enough practice at making my thoughts into effective phrases.

But now I’m a grown man, and after years of practice, this grown ass man would love the opportunity to sit that teacher down and say, “What you didn’t seem to understand is that what you didn’t find appropriate behavior for a young boy wasn’t a result of a lack of parenting - it was a result of bad parenting. Not because it came from a man or a woman, but because of ineffective mentoring skills or a lack thereof.”

What I would love to tell her is that some kids turn out BETTER without the influence of an abusive, alcoholic, unaffectionate dead beat. Some kids turn out more compassionate and caring and empathetic and loving because of the LACK of a BAD influence.

Two parents isn’t always the solution. A “man’s” or “woman’s” touch isn’t always needed. What IS needed is effective parenting and caring mentors. People who take the time to explain to you the why’s and how’s of the world - and if that’s from one mom or two grandparents or two dads, who gives a shit. As long as that kid is given the building blocks to help make the world a slightly better place, well then that is all that matters.

That night, as I watched my father steal my moms car once again, I looked at my mother and didn’t see pain, but strength. Strength to do the right thing for her child despite the lack of support from relatives and in spite of the asshole who continued to wreck the life and family she so desperately tried to build.

And sure, I will probably spend the rest of my life trying to understand the scars on my heart, who put them there and why, but the difference is - I’m trying. And I know that every time I write a book or speak to a crowd of people about my insecurities - that’s my mom. That is my mom’s influence. One that told me through tear-soaked eyes - do your best to make this world a little better.

And I’m trying. I’m still trying.

In spite of him… but because of her.

Living Deliberately.

Twelve years ago, the five of us woke up in a a tiny crappy hotel room that we all were sharing while we recorded the new Arma Angelus record. I slept on the floor next to the bathroom. I woke up with everyone stepping over me to shower - I was always designated as last because apparently I took too long with my morning rituals. When I walked out of the shower the television was on in the room as the dudes packed up what they needed for the day. Dan said, “A plane crashed into the World Trade Center.” Not knowing the extent of the damage, I said, “Oh, no way. That’s crazy.”

The five of us hopped in the van and headed toward the studio outside of Boston where we were recording our new album, “When Sleeplessness Is Rest From Nightmares.” When we arrived, we immediately turned on the television to find that a second plane had crashed as well.

Our story is like many others. Huddled around a television in complete shock feeling vulnerable, terrified, angry, and sad all at once. For some odd reason, I pulled out my disposable camera and clicked a picture of the television we were all watching. Very faintly, it shows one of the towers still standing.

Filed away in one of my many scrapbooks, I look at this picture often. Placed underneath is my boarding pass from the day before. American Airlines in Boston - the same airline and the same airport where the planes were taken and it reminds me of how quickly life can be taken away simply based upon timing.

Since then, I am constantly beating myself up over how well I am using my time here. It is a struggle to constantly motivate myself to become more and better than I was the day before but if anything good came out of that day in September, it should be a reminder to all of us to live as well and as hard as we possibly can.

And I believe the best way to honor their legacy is not by wasting the time we still have but by creating, exploring, and raging harder than ever because someday our light will go out and it would be a tragedy if we didn’t live as hard and as genuine and as deliberate as possible.

Ep. 107 of my podcast, The Deep End.

Episode 107.

Oh dang, my podcast is now back up on iTunes. Find all the lost episodes and subscribe for free.

My podcast is now sponsored by If you click this link or enter 'DEEPEND' when checking out you get 50% off most items, 3 free dvd porns AND free shipping. It comes in plain white wrapping so your mom wont know you spent your lunch money on a new vibrator.


Episode 106 of my podcast, The Deep End.

Episode 106.

Oh dang, my podcast is now back up on iTunes. Find all the lost episodes and subscribe for free.

My podcast is now sponsored by If you click this link or enter 'DEEPEND' when checking out you get 50% off most items, 3 free dvd porns AND free shipping. It comes in plain white wrapping so your mom wont know you spent your lunch money on a new vibrator.

Episode 105 of The Deep End podcast.

Episode 105.


Oh dang, my podcast is now back up on iTunes. Find all the lost episodes and subscribe for free.

My podcast is now sponsored by If you click this link or enter 'DEEPEND' when checking out you get 50% off most items, 3 free dvd porns AND free shipping. It comes in plain white wrapping so your mom wont know you spent your lunch money on a new vibrator.

Episode 104

Episode 104.


Oh dang, my podcast is now back up on iTunes. Find all the lost episodes and subscribe for free.

My podcast is now sponsored by If you click this link or enter 'DEEPEND' when checking out you get 50% off most items, 3 free dvd porns AND free shipping. It comes in plain white wrapping so your mom wont know you spent your lunch money on a new vibrator.