I see you people standing there, looking at me. I don’t know why you look at me like that, you’re so far away. I only see you every so often anyway, how many of you even stop to look.
If I would feel I may feel exposed, naked, even ashamed. But what would I feel ashamed about? That I’m bared over and over, as I turn round and round. I don’t even know what exactly I’m doing. Or what I’m for.
I turn and turn, and cement builds up, and falls off again. No one ever really sees what’s the point of it. Maybe it’s just that one person that keeps looking. I reach above the building next to me, the view here is so nice. The only thing that I see on my height is a circle with bulbs on it, and the other buildings across the street.
Where does all the cement go? I dance with metal riggings sometimes, and other people rush back and forth around me. The dance floor always looks the same, sometimes it’s wet, sometimes the cement is built up on one side or the other, but never for long.
I know I have tubes and pipes and pistons and wheels. I think I pump something, but I don’t know where, it always just dissapears, and the dance floor turns more and more grey as I go. Track marks trace my paces and my partners end up with their heads just out of the ground.
Men prod me and hold me and push me, I don’t know how, I don’t know why, and you just stare.