Not my idea, not really. Credit mostly belongs to a poet friend of mine.
We were discussing some independent movie by an unknown black director he had just seen at a special screening at his local art house. It would be cool, said The Poet, to be able to see more movies like that, movies by black writers and directors. Perhaps even see only movies like that, for some designated period of time.
“Sure,” said I. “See only movies which reflect us and our experience.”
“Only black movies,” said The Poet. “Also, read only black books and magazines.”
“And listen to black music,” said I. “And get all your news from black newspapers and websites.”
“For maybe a year,” said The Poet.
“A year of black culture,” said I, buzzing now. “Imagine the experience. Imagine how one’s perspective might change and shift.”
“Either that,” said The Poet, “Or the effort would drive you insane.”
Fear of insanity not being a deterrent, I decided to try. It would be a grand experiment, an attempt to immerse myself in the warm waters of blackness, to swim beyond the sight of whiteness land.