Robert Fludd
Jonathan Regier

A planet wanders in a zodiacal sign, according to Robert Fludd, like a soul wanders in its body. The planet draws from the sign its principle dispositions, and when the sign is without planets, it can be considered as a body without soul and therefore dead. Ptolemy writes that the Domicile particularly familiar to a planet is called 'Joy'. This is why the Joy of Saturn is in the sign of the freshet, why the skeleton bangs on the door, why the bachelor drifts through his downstairs, and why aluminum flashes.

(Ampere, Hebrew, white birch, feud, law, law.)

From the naval of his cap to the second crossroads of his sternum, Saturn is sodden with lead. He takes his leaden system and bangs it against his leaden brow. The fields will have to go to harvest anyway, so he folds the body of a married woman as tightly as possible and pounds her into a dry well with his tablet. He takes a hillbilly and strangles the hillbilly's goofy neck until the man turns into a shred of paper.

His thoughts are intractable. His hands are as vapid as cork. His godly stout thighs are blitzed up from a winter's folliculitis. He goes out in the morning and discovers that his bees have turned insane and quit their bonds and hives. This is why the Joy of Saturn is inevitably in the sign of the freshet. The chair is in the freshet. (No matter what, I've never seen a picture of just a chair.) Saturn will have to wade through the freshet to sit on his stupid, honeyless chair. The situation will improve. The bees won't come back to life (I mean whichever bees are undone), but the living will face better odds.