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  • sexual trauma
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  • death
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  • surgery
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baby queers be careful - this is for big kids only - you know if i am warning you what this means





so let’s get a few things very clear

  • i respect all pronouns. period.
  • i will use whatever pronouns, words, phrases, mannerisms, and am willing to do pretty much anything another person needs to feel safe and respected and loved
  • if you indicate a pronoun preference (or any other preference) for yourself, i will undoubtedly respect that request, and advocate for the importance of it with every ounce of “me” i can muster
  • these are unfiltered views about myself
  • this will be a concept-first article introducing concepts which will later justify the egregious title


now that the oh-so annoying preface is out of the way. let’s begin our adventure in a small, christian, republican town in Texas in the late 80s.

a young recently graduated oral roberts university CPA had been sexually and emotionally abused by her manager at the office.

the woman was severely traumatized and desperate for peace, and hope in a world that had always betrayed her.

the man was a monster.

naturally, the two fell in love.

one unplanned miscarriage and a quick elopement later, i was born, alongside my twin brother.

when i was 8 years old i met keith jesperson the man who murdered and raped my aunt Julie. her body was found where i, as an grown-up, would later mountain climb in the pacific northwest. the northern banks of the columbia river, just outside of portland.

a few moments after seeing keith for the first time, i sat down to dinner with my family. just another evening in the Childress household.

we can fast-forward through a lifetime of manipulation, trauma, substance abuse and survival such that we find ourselves today: 2021.

i can (and most likely will) fill a small book with memoirs of my relationship with the person looking back at me in the mirror.

what you need to know for the sake of this article is 2 very simple things:

  • i plan to successfully murder the person looking back at me in the mirror later this year
  • nobody else will be able to hurt me again, because of this soon-to-be-over relationship with this… creature… looking back me

i have prepared some art, in the most literal sense of the word that i admire frequently. i will now share this.

below is my skull.

x ray

and below my skull we find a rudimentary drawing of a relatively common brow reduction surgical procedure.

at the moment of writing: this is my favorite of all the procedures i have researched.

something about the cracking of the sinus cavity and rebuilding of the forehead just makes me squirm like the little fucked up girl in a sunday dress that i am inside.


it really is remarkable how such a simple contour line in such an unusual place can be the difference between a lifetime of a persons construct for what a boy and a girl means to them.


a simple line removed, and a lifetime of wrongful sexual projection and prosecution swept away.

a tiny reflection of the endocrine system’s work on the skeleton is all our eyes need to know everything we need to know about a person’s motives.

is this a dangerous faggot in a dress?

or is this an innocent woman i can trust?

one tiny line on the forehead is all we need to assume the difference - and we do.

oh. we certainly do.

the murder

above i mentioned an intentionally very dramatic line

i plan to successfully murder the person looking back at me in the mirror

let me assure you that i am exceptionally happy, healthy, and very well.

i truly hope my doctor reads this because i believe she will be smiling throughout.

i would say it’s safe to say that my friends and family would describe me as beautiful and gentle these days.

i have no intention of hurting anyone, and i certainly have no intention of harming myself.

i do however have a lifetime of hatred for the monstrous face looking back at me.

i see a lot of trauma, history, and ugliness in that face.

words i have said, people i have heart, moments i have cried, moments i have screamed, people who have hurt me, and all of this bestowed upon me without an opportunity to say otherwise.

the monster that i was, my past, the trauma – that – is what i want to rid myself of.

the antagonist

toxic masculinity, transphobia, abuse, and mayhem is the antagonist in this story.

i would like to think that our readers would also be as disgusted with our nemesis.

this nemesis of ours is referenced in language; and it’s demons are pronouns.

this creature - will be the creature we plan to defeat.


my mother used to make me recite these words as i learned to conjugate french. a language i have blocked out of my memory.

i remember smelling the tobacco and cheap wine on her breath as she hovered her repulsive mouth inches from the face that i hated.

  • i
  • you
  • he
  • she
  • we
  • it
  • they

author’s note:

by design until now i have neglected to use neither he nor she in this article

feel free to go back and investigate for yourself. i do love a good technical constraint, and a handsome challenge after all.

what really is a pronoun?

  • a pronoun is a pointer
  • a pronoun is a reference
  • a pronoun is shorthand

i am assuming a large portion of the individuals reading this also are familiar with basic computer science

#include <stdio.h>

int main() {
  int n = 17;
  printf("Noun    : %d\n", n);
  printf("Pronoun : %p\n", &n);  
  return 0;

a pronoun is just a construct that was developed for convenience.

there is nothing to say we cannot just always reference our idea directly.

she cracked her own skull open with an aluminium baseball bat

nóva cracked her own skull open with an aluminium baseball bat

because humans are exceedingly lazy, we opted to have different words used to describe these constructs we build in our mind.

he has a beard

she does not

where there is a pronoun, there is an opportunity to use a noun directly

my pronouns

i would fancy to live in a world where these literary conveniences were replaced with much more descriptive and useful devices, but alas that is not the case.

what i truly care about is respect.

i would be honored if someone were to dazzle me with their use of a pronoun but that is very unlikely to happen any time soon.

i would be tickled if others were taught the skill of thinking before speaking.

or better; thinking whilst speaking.

the simple truth is that we all know that we cannot expect someone to enter a conversation with anything more than a 3rd grade level of english understanding.

language is reactive, and most of the words and phrases are just regurgitated word bile from our internal dialogue anyway.

regardless of education, language is astonishingly beautiful, and i adore it in all forms.

pronouns are dangerous

for so many reasons i listed above, and so many more that will forever disappear into the abyss of my meaningless life in this demented universe.

everything comes spilling on top of me like a well sliced artery spewing warm blood onto a cold stainless steal operating table when a simple pronoun escapes into the air.

and the audacity of the word - a mere grunt if you are not careful

an insignificant noise so inaudible that it can almost be covered up with doubt as if it were never uttered at all.

alas laughter is a powerful weapon

the ability to make fun at a literary weapon is one of my true superpowers.

nothing quite says “fuck you” like the sexual deviant of a young innocent girl’s giggle.

there is no offensive as destructive to masculinity like that of a curtsy in a short dress.

femme is truly an awesome force to behold.

call me a he

  • and i will consider retaliation

call me a her

  • and i might smile

call me them

  • and i might be impressed

call me kris

  • and i will know you do not know me

call me nova

  • and i will know you enjoy me

call me nóva

  • and i will know you love me

what pronouns should i use with you nóva?

if you insist on using pronouns, default to whatever of the above scenarios you wish to inspire within me.

the choice is yours.

ultimately pronouns do not matter to me

nothing will be able to hurt me as much as this world already has.

at the most you might brighten my day, so i suppose that will do?

i assure you, i do not want to discuss pronouns

if you want to impress me then send me an arrangement of words that demonstrates sexuality, humility, intelligence, and whit. dance around pronouns like a blood drenched witch dancing around a pile of fermenting squab.

if you want to annoy me, then continue to allude to your fantasy that you are somehow worthy of my respect because of your consideration of “my pronouns”.

if you must ask, ask with diligence, and ask authentically. however, asking me my pronoun preference will not qualify you for more respect or attention.

if you truly want my respect, then say nothing. less it be poetry ripe with the cracking of the glabella and slicing of veins in metaphor of the gender patriarchy that dominates this shit of existence in this forsaken wasteland of a dream we humans refer to merely as “reality”.

now that dear friends

is precisely