Instrument I
Each experiment is a public register: a hypothesis, a locked analysis plan, and whatever the data turns out to say.
An experiment here is not a quiz. Before a single entry is collected, the register states what is being tested, what pure chance would produce, which statistical test will settle it, and at which sample sizes a conclusion may be drawn. That plan is published first precisely so it cannot be adjusted once results start arriving — which is the difference between a prediction and a story told afterwards.
These registers are collecting. No account, no email address and no name: an entry carries a random id minted in your browser, and clearing site data throws it away.
Twelve horoscopes rise each morning with their signs effaced. If the stars write anything personal into them, their readers should find their own at better than one part in twelve.
Enter your birth details, read the description that follows, and rate how well it fits. Then find out what everyone else was reading.
Five cards, one chosen at random, and a sealed commitment shown to you before you guess — so you can prove afterwards that the answer was never changed to suit the result.
Rate the day you have just had. Then, and only then, draw a card. Over enough days the question answers itself: do the cards land where their meanings say they should?
Nothing to enter here. The windows are computed from orbital elements, and the first registered public dataset is analysed against them as new source months arrive.
Mercury retrograde gets blamed for delayed flights, dropped calls and broken deployments. The windows are real and computable to the hour. Whether anything actually clusters inside them is a separate question, and an answerable one.