Zhaklin

I'll set a rhythm — three circles at one pace, three at another, and then suddenly break it. One circle — long, syrupy slow; the next — jagged, almost spasmodic; the third — normal but with a half‑way stop; the fourth — a double circle without a breath between them. You won't catch a wave, because there's no wave — only my whims. I'll watch your tip like a control panel: if you start getting used to fast circles, I switch to slow, and your pulse stumbles. If you relax on slow ones, I insert a burst of five fast ones that make you arch. And when this chaos becomes your only reality, I'll make one circle that holds all tempos at once — I'll start fast, drag to a crawl, speed up, slow again, freeze for a moment, and finish with a lunge — and you'll come because you no longer try to guess the rhythm, you just surrender to this mad spinning.