I was eating a burger and writing poetry at the Old Town Bar when my friend Dung, who works nearby in publishing came in, returning as always from his travels to Europe, where he hops from Biennales to design fairs, meeting famous designers and fashion celebrities, and private visits to architecture gems such Oscar Niemeyer’s French Communist Party Headquarters in Paris.
- Hey Unknown, I think the time has come for you to do a book.
- Really? I’d rather do a record. My Unknown Suite for voice and electrified tambourine is almost ready. Do you want to listen to the demo tape? It’s only 120 minutes long.
- Hmm, I’m sure the music is great, but right now I think a book is more appropriate. And a new publishing house, August Editions, wants to publish it.
- Well… You see, I don’t want my stuff to become too commercial.
- We’re would do a limited edition of only 1,000 numbered copies.
- What would be the title?
- How about The Unknown Hipster Diaries?
- Shouldn’t it just be called The Unknown Diaries? People hate hipsters, especially other hipsters. At my Bushwick subway station somebody wrote over a Planned Change Service Notice at the end of the platform: “F*** the hipsters, they ruined Brooklyn,” and it’s illustrated with a crude drawing of a dude with beard and frames.
- But, Unknown, you’re not really a hipster…
- No, in fact, I never was.
- Of course. Still, I think we should keep the title The Unknown Hipster Diaries.
- It’s not a bad title. But… what about the record?
Available at very selected bookstores November 2012
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Distributed in France by OFR