One Page Autobiography

This is an early draft of my one pager bio for our writing partnership. I could really use some feedback, because I wrote it off a sort of weird idea and I'm not sure whether it works or not. Please let me know what you think:

***********************************

See that kid? No, not that guy, the other one. The white one. The one with the shaggy brown hair. The average looking dude, you see, not too tall, not too fat. Yeah there you go. That guy. See how he walks around. Look at the clothes he wears. Watch what he does. Watch carefully. See him. Know him. Judge him.

There he goes with a tie , nice shoes, dress pants, a bunch of papers. He’s wearing glasses. He’s going to class. He’s got some class. Lookin’ all studious, with his pondering, and his wondering, and his reading. Got his nose in a book or a book in his nose, not really caring if he spills coffee on his clothes. And he’s just learning and teaching all of the time. Watch him go to school, watch him watch the students of the world. What is he? Who is he? He some kind of scholar? He’s wearing that tight collar. He some kind of nerd?

But there he goes again. Different day, different style. He’s wearing sandals, and his hair’s unkempt. It’s long and messy, and it gets in his eyes, and he’s listening to music, and off watching the skies, in his own little world, his own little bubble, I can see it in his eyes, this kid’s gonna be trouble. A nuisance, a rebel, not going to listen to the authority, not going to do as he’s told. He’s biking everywhere, and sitting in the grass, and sticking his feet in the water, and just doing nothing. Tossing a frisbee around hah! Nothing but talking with other young hippies with their own long hair and their own ideals. He’s fighting for something, you can tell. You just know he’s got some cause, some righteous struggle in him that makes him think he can change the world. Like he can change anything. Like he’s got any power. Just look at him, just see how useless it all is, just watch him. You know what he does. You know he’s one of those damn free spirited weirdoes- the ones that hang around in coffee shops or in the parks, or are out there protesting and making a fuss. He’s one of them.

But what’s this now? Our boy runnin’ and jumpin’ and playing football? He’s sprinting down the sidewalk, running up that hill, once, twice, ten times, just look at him fly. Here he’s playin’ basketball, now what’s up with that? Playing baseball too, heck he ain’t bad. He’s quick. He’s got fire and determination in him. This kid won’t quit. He’s out there in the rain, in the wind, in the cold and the snow, every day he’s running and running and running, out on the go. He’s shaping that body, he’s strong. A bit on the scrawnier side, but strong all the same, and hella fast. What’s he doin? Watching ESPN, seeing the game, talking ‘bout the sport, now what’s he doing that for? He some kind of athlete? He some kind of sportsman?

Now watch him write. See his pen fly across the page. See his fingers fly across the keyboard. He’s doing this all the time. In fact it’s the one constant. The one thing that won’t change. He’s always scribbling something down, always got an idea in his hand, a dream in his head. Why won’t he just quit? Why won’t he just give it a rest?

Who is this fellow? You’ve seen him, you know what he does. You know his clothes, his style, his job, his struggle, his school, and his home. You know his actions. His reactions. Who is he? Is he what he does? Is he what he likes? Is he what he says? Is he who he hangs out with?

Or is he what he writes? Look on to that page. Can that even describe him? Those words there come from his head and his heart, come from his very soul. That is who he is. He is his poetry. He is his prose. He is his passion.

But he still can’t be defined. He still can’t be categorized or stereotyped or wrapped up in a neat little box. He’s still indefatigable. He’s unstoppable. Unnamable, untamable. He’s unique.