carroll creatives

I will not write pretty when Donald Trump is president. I will be hard and sharp and nasty for real, not for respectable, white feminists. I will eat pussy in bathroom stalls at gay clubs and I will not wipe my mouth or brush my teeth when I go home. I will fight in the streets when Donald Trump is president. I will fight dirty, I will tear at hair and rip flesh with my teeth. I will yell back when men yell at me. I will yell louder. When I attack them I will aim for the crotch. I will not say ‘sorry’ when Donald Trump is president. I will not stay still when I hear racial slurs. I will not let Islamaphobes off the hook. I will mail my dirty tampons to Mike Pence. I will smear my period blood on KKK hoods. When Donald Trump is president I will hurt anyone who hurts Black women. I will hurt anyone who hurts trans women. I will not write pretty. I will not be pretty. I will make my body a nightmare and I will make sure everyone knows. I will do cocaine and drink until my teeth rot down to the gums. I will howl our bus windows at night when I’m hurtling through South Central. I will not let neoliberals rest. I will give communist literature to my fourteen year old brother and three different daggers to my sixteen year old sister. I will not fuck men when Donald Trump is president, but if I do I will not let them come.I will use words like 'cunt’ through mouthfuls of blood. I will not patch up my scraped knees. I will not clean up my messes. I will be so ugly that just the sight of me will have you scream your throat raw.
—  I Will Not Write Pretty When Donald Trump is President, by Rachel R. Carroll

America, it’s election time again, a time where everyone wants to make the most informed decision possible. That’s why our innovative linguists have developed a new product we believe will prove essential in upcoming months. Introducing: ROSETTA STONE - 2016 REPUBLICAN PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATE EDITION!

This revolutionary language learning tool is essential to understanding the political world. For instance: do you ever log onto Facebook and have no clue what your conservative friends are talking about? Do conversations with your father leave you praying you were adopted? Do you too find yourself wondering: Michelle Bachman - what the fuck, right? Well then, Rosetta Stone Republican Candidate is exactly what you need.

Rosetta Stone Republican Candidate helps you fluently navigate a variety of discussion topics, such as: the hoax that is global warming, conversion therapies for gay youth, and those damn liberals tryin’ to drive Jesus from America. Our product, however, has the added advantage of sparing you from actually having to have a conversation with a Republican.

In no time at all, Rosetta Stone can teach you that phrases like “bipartisan agreement” truly mean “Democratic surrender;” that “pro-life” translates to “pro-birth, and then you’re on your own;” and “unconstitutional” means “something far too progressive for someone stuck in the 18th century, like me.”

Rosetta Stone is widely recognized today as the industry leader in providing effective language programs. Don’t believe us? Just talk to some of our satisfied customers!

“At first, I was completely dumbfounded by Ted Cruz when he said, ‘There is no place for gays or atheists in my America.’ But thanks to Rosetta Stone Republican Candidate, I now know he’s just saying, ‘I can’t see a way to tolerate people who are different than I am because it’s too dark with my head shoved this far up my ass.’ THANKS, ROSETTA!”

“Political conversations with my friends were always embarrassing. But now,when Rick Perry says ‘Freedom of religion does not mean freedom from religion,’ I know he really means, My Jesus will take his AR-15 military grade semi-automatic rifle and mow down any other God that stands before him! Rosetta Stone: Republican Edition, you’re the best!“

“Rick Santorum had a knack of always throwing me for a loop. So when he said that the reason he did not support abortions even in the case of rape victims is because they ought to ‘accept what God has given’ them, I had to turn to Rosetta Stone: Republican Candidate to understand what he was really saying: That God himself has decided rape is the punishment I must bear for committing the crime of being a woman.”

ROSETTA STONE CAN WORK FOR YOU!

But wait, there’s more! If you call within the time it takes for another Republican candidate to shove their foot down their throat, you’ll receive not only our full Republican Candidate language learning kit, but we’ll also throw in a free Sarah Palin-to-English dictionary! So act now, and we’ll see you on Election Day.

—  Rosetta Stone, by Rachel R. Carroll

Eight Things My Bisexual Identity Is Not

One - A neon sign on my forehead saying yes, God, I want nothing more than to have a threesome with you! 

Two - It is not my fear to say I’m a lesbian. Queerness does not come in stages; this is not my 30 day free trial period before upgrading to premium membership.

Three - It is not being straight just because I have a boyfriend. Difficult as it may be to wrap minds as straight as yours around anything, my partner does not determine my sexuality any more than wearing a green shirt precludes me from liking blue.

Four - Confusion. There is no uncertainty in the way her lips work like whirlpools or how his hands hold hell fire against my hips.

Five - It is not greed, because let me assure you: my one man is about all that I can handle more often than not.

Six - A choice. This may surprise you, but I didn’t opt into a community where hallway harassment and back alley bloodshed are creating more and more graves for smaller and smaller coffins.

Seven - An invitation for you to excavate my sexual history as if my past lovers were one pornographic artifact after another. Do me a favor and go jack off somewhere else.

Eight - It is not any of your goddamn business

—  by Rachel R. Carroll
Learn three clean jokes. Learn your grandparents’ birthdays and anniversaries. Learn the address of a friend who lives far away; write her often. Learn more than is necessary about your favorite poet. Learn how to sew a button back onto a shirt and the basic necessities of keeping a garden. Learn the little boy down the street’s favorite color. Learn about as many religions as possible. Learn your father’s favorite movies and your mother’s favorite songs. Learn the best possible way to keep a secret. Learn how you best learn. Learn how you best live. And do it.
—  my 17 year old self’s response to the question, “What should everybody learn?”

When I’m at parties I’m every overdone YA novel I read in high school and it’s not on purpose I swear but I just so happened to have a Smiths phase the first time I tried to kiss a girl and she said she was straight. Someone in my eleventh grade English class once told me “You seem to really understand where Holden is coming from.” First of all: how fucking dare he.

My problem if you want to get right down to it is that yes I’ll reach for a single glass of wine first but if it’s gone then sure Jack Daniels and Coke sounds fine but if you’re out of Coke that’s fine too. In line with avoiding cliches like the plague I’ve never so much as held a cigarette but I still carry a lighter in my purse where my caution ought to be.

Things happen to me twofold: what’s here and then you. I hardly ever get high unless it’s funnier if I do and calling you then is no different than it is on Tuesdays. (Maybe. Maybe it is. Maybe slower.) If I accused you of losing sleep over smoke in my lungs, would you make fun of my metaphors? You filthy fucking hypocrite. Come kiss me goodnight.

—  Our Thing, by Rachel R. Carroll

The clock on my stove read 12:50 AM,
and I had made you coffee
(well, you see, I hadn’t made it,
my mother did, earlier that morning,
but by then it was stone cold,
so I heated it up and fixed it the way you liked it,
a little bit of sugar and a little bit of creamer,
but I went a little heavy on the creamer)

and my brother was in the next room
and both my parents were asleep upstairs
and my sister had been gone for three days
and I didn’t care about the boy messaging me on Facebook,
at least not as much as I told you I did.

So like I said
(did I say? you understand)
we were in the kitchen
and that was probably for the best
because we’d ripped up all the carpet in the living room the week before
and so the whole house felt different
and my feet were cold from the concrete
and you put your head down on the table
and asked me to play with your hair

and I did
and I cried
and I looked anywhere
but at you.

—  A Goodbye Note Without Metaphors, by Rachel R. Carroll
4

As stated earlier, I have designed a logo for my graphic design practice. Due to my geometrical design style and the fact that triangles symbolize change within the mathematical mainframe, I chose to center my design around my social activism and social justice designs. I am repositioning my design and illustrative practice to focus more of designs that strive social change and the arts.

If I was a drizzle, and you were a hurricane
then perhaps John Green would find Alaska in our fingerprints.
Why he would be looking, I’m not sure;
perhaps the biting blue of the notes we passed in physics
reminded him of the smell of the wind there.
Or maybe Miles Halter
is still searching for his Great Perhaps
of Culver Creek, Alabama
(but we, I am worried,
are not gradual storm stages -
for it seems we cannot lead to one another.)
There is something irrational
in the footsteps we carve;
something triskaideckaphobic,
frightened.
It cannot be coached out of us.
(Is that why we don’t make an effort to try?)
The faded stamp you stuck to your decisions
fell off on your way to the post;
I fear, darling,
that we will be doomed to dangle in such a mail slot
until the threads of cyberspace
render us irrelevant.
(The mornings that you took from me,
if you’ll recall,
were not those I would have treasured
before you blemished them.)
If I have enacted your ombre de l’escalier
this shadow of a staircase,
know only that as you are climbing yours
I am re-examining mine.
And she is saying to me, “Follow.”
—  A List of Things I Want to Say to You But Fear You Would Laugh At, by Rachel R. Carroll