What even is an ‘original thought’?
So, the other day i opened my email to find…let’s call it a “spirited” message. Someone accused me of plagiarising an entire body of work i’ve never heard of. The phrase in question? “Taste is the enemy of art.” Apparently, this line belongs to the Polish writer Stanislaw Jerzy Lec. Who knew? Certainly not me ~ but my inbox knows now.
If i’m honest, I first heard this line from Addison Rae in an interview ~ and it landed like a dart. Not because it was new, but because it said something i’d been feeling so sharply in that moment.
I was right in the middle of writing You Taste Good. The rest of that piece poured out in one sitting, my mind spilling all over the screen. My best friend and i had just ended. Once upon a time, he tasted good ~ sweet, familiar, something i wanted to keep close. But now? It’s all sour. Bitter. The kind of taste you can’t swallow, the kind you have to spit out before it poisons you.
That’s the thing about a line, a lyric, a thought you hear out in the wild: if it hits you in the right place, it doesn’t matter who said it first. It matters what you do with it.
Because here’s the truth ~ none of us are writing in a vacuum. Every sentence i’ve ever written has been touched by so many genres of creativity. They are layered with what i’ve seen, read, overheard, or felt. Every colour i love has lived on someone else’s wall before mine. Every song that made me cry was made from chords older than both of us.
So what even is an “original thought”? Is it a line no one’s ever said before, or is it the way you bend it, twist it, and breathe your own history into it until it tastes like you?
Don’t get me wrong ~ i appreciate the educational standpoint of it all. But here’s a quote your mum might have said: “If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”
It’s wild how a misstep on my knowledge of every book and quote ever written turns into me being called a whore.
So here’s the thing ~ if you think calling me a whore is going to shame me into silence, you’ve never met a woman who’s lived through worse and come out shinier. My legs don’t make my words less original. My history doesn’t make my voice less mine. And my taste? It’s not something you can drag through the mud because you don’t like how it smells on you.
What you read in my work isn’t stolen ~ it’s lived. I’ve bled for it, danced for it, smoked through it, and written it down with hands that have built more than your mouth ever could.
You want to talk about “original thought”? Let’s talk about the fact that women have been called whores for centuries just for speaking too loudly, dressing too boldly, or daring to create without asking for permission. You’re not uncovering some grand truth about me ~ you’re just recycling the same tired insult men have been using since they realised they couldn’t control us. Find a new insult, were waiting…How goods being a troll hiding behind your own keyboard you mad warrior.
And if that’s all you’ve got? You can choke on your own bad taste.
Always, in the glow of Honey and Moonlight
Mon x
Now playing: i dont care ariana
whos afraid of little old me