Blame Your Planet: A Wicked Astrological Tour Through the Darkside of the Zodiac

Blame Your Planet: A Wicked Astrological Tour Through the Darkside of the Zodiac

by Stella Hyde


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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781578635986
Publisher: Red Wheel/Weiser
Publication date: 03/01/2016
Pages: 400
Sales rank: 1,238,502
Product dimensions: 5.90(w) x 7.40(h) x 1.50(d)

About the Author

Stella Hyde is the author of Darkside Zodiac, Darkside Zodiac at Work, and Snarling Tiger, Hidden Dragon, and has always felt that zodiac groupies get off too lightly. She thinks everyone should confront their evil twin. Hyde is a grudgebearing Cancer who resides in England.

Read an Excerpt

Blame Your Planet

A Wicked Astrological Tour Through the Darkside of the Zodiac

By Stella Hyde

Red Wheel/Weiser, LLC

Copyright © 2004 Ivy Press Limited
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-63341-045-9



March 21–April 20

Aries is a masculine, cardinal Fire sign ruled by Mars. It is the first sign on the zodiac wheel, directly opposite Libra, and is named for the constellation Aries (the ram), which shouts and struts behind the Sun at this time of year.

On the Darkside, this makes you a loud, overconfident, aggressive thug with way too many Y chromosomes and a will of titanium-clad granite.


Overwhelming, overbearing, overconfident

Brightside astrologers proclaim that you burst with creative energy and confidence, and that you prefer to express yourself through action. Well, they would, wouldn't they, especially with your knife to their collective throat? This is just salon talk for laying about you with a meat cleaver when you wish to make a point, isn't it, Aries? Your Instagram account is in permanent selfie overload, and your devices are all set to Me-Time — like there could be any other kind, RME, FOFL.

Greedy, aggressive, argumentative, restless, willful, confrontational, headstrong, and self-obsessed, you are the zodiac's permanently enraged adolescent (and just look at the state of your room); you have what nice social workers call "a problem with authority." Show you a no-entry sign and you are up the forbidden highway like a ferret up a drainpipe. No one has ever explained the phrase "consequences-of-your-actions" to you (mostly because you won't stand still long enough, and even if you were nailed to the floor, you still wouldn't listen). Consequently the nation's ERs are an Arien's second home.

Subtle you're not; no one will ever find you sitting quietly in a corner brooding on life's great mysteries, or sitting quietly anywhere. You blunder through the world like Tigger gone rogue, looking for new frontiers to smash. Fortunately you can be easily distracted by bright lights, loud noises, meat, blood, fire, and knives. On good days, this means a neighborhood barbecue; on bad days, World War III.

You generate a kind of low-frequency tetch field all around you, which unnerves the rest of us, and can be condensed into a stamping rage by practically anything. Lost your keys? House turned upside down, loved ones lambasted, doors slammed off hinges. And instructions for anything from a flatpack to a cruise missile are torn up in a rage (nobody tells Aries what to do!) before you get past step one.

Have you ever willingly finished anything in your life? You're just one big booster rocket, all fired up for blastoff, and falling away as soon as your boredom threshold (usually around sea level) is reached. Some of you can't even get to the end of a sentence before moving on, which is probably why the military speak in speedily articulated acronyms.

Pathologically, addictively competitive, you have to come first in everything, even if it's only a spitting contest, and you will do anything to win, as your concept of fair play means that you triumph. This extends to your kids, whom you are likely to disown if they don't win a Nobel prize, the World Series, and an Oscar.

Your political opinions are strongly held: bigoted and extreme. The doctrine is irrelevant — it's the extreme part you like, along with the street fighting and mob violence. Many Ariens become politicians. How scary is that? Aberrant Ariens who show a mild interest in other life forms can clean up by running elite assertiveness-training courses — although the rest of you wonder why anyone would want to give ammo to the competition.

Bitch rating

C+. Think about it: bitching demands subtlety and finesse, neither of which your Bad Fairy Godmother left in your cradle. If you want to say something nasty about someone, you don't sneak around; you just open your mouth and blast away. Refreshing, in a strange way.

Collective noun

A safety tip for non-Ariens. You may find yourself, for some bizarre zodiacal reason, in a room full of Ariens (perhaps your local slaughterhouse is hosting an open evening in the spirit of community outreach). The air is thick with testosterone, and thrums with shouting and the sound of keen blade-whetting. You have rashly stumbled into a Headbutt of Aries. Run away.


The red menace

If you are feeling even more hot-eyed and steam-driven than usual, your children are cowering behind a bunker of cereal boxes at the breakfast table, strong men are crossing the road to avoid you, and the world is bathed in a red mist, is this your fault? Is it, punk? Not entirely. Blame your planet. In your case, it's Mars.

Mars knows where we live. In fact the red, glowering psychopath is our next-door neighbor, fourth rock from the Sun. Isn't that comforting? Somehow the fact that it's only half Earth's size doesn't really help. It stalks our orbit at half speed, so we can always see it just out of the corner of our eye. Worse, it has two hench-moons called — wait for it — Deimos and Phobos, or fear and loathing. They're tiny, but they do a menacing double act. Deimos, a midget made entirely of black rock, is in synchronous rotation with the boss; this means it doesn't rise or set — it's a constant eyeball in the sky. Phobos, au contraire, the hyperactive one, pops up every five hours, just when you thought it was safe. The Martian atmosphere is almost entirely carbon dioxide; this is what happens when you are so angry with your mom and the cosmos that you hold your breath until you go red in the face.

Mars is named for the Roman god of war. Adored and worshiped by the Roman army, he was a remix of an ancient agricultural god and the Greek god of war, Ares, notorious on Mount Olympus as a violent but stupid, bloodlusty braggart. Ares/Aries — you see what's happening here?


The darkside of Aries' darkside

It's not all sunshine on the Darkside. You know just how power-crazed and monomaniac your innermost thoughts and secret fantasies are, but where do you think they come from? The Moon, that's where — or whichever area of your birthchart the Moon was moodily plodding when you were born. The Sun is our daytime self; the Moon represents our inner psycho. The nippy little wretch rushes around plunging in and out of signs every few days, so throughout Aries' month in the Sun, the lunar nuisance dodges around like a guerrillista in a South American jungle. That helps to explain why two Ariens born only days apart stamp their feet in a different rhythm when thwarted, depending on which sign the Moon was bothering at the time.

Lunatic combinations

Here's what happens to Aries when the Moon marches off in a lust for glory.

Moon in Aries — twice as tetchy, twice as trigger-happy, twice as likely to start World War III.

Moon in Taurus — aggressively greedy for territory, but easily distracted by cakes and ale.

Moon in Gemini — soldier of fortune; a dirty fighter unencumbered by old-fashioned burdens such as loyalty.

Moon in Cancer — pistol-packin' momma; you like to bake a lovely apple pie for your enemies after you have knocked their teeth out.

Moon in Leo — will only lead the charge if you get to wear a big plumed hat and your troops all swear to adore you.

Moon in Virgo — Aries despises detail; Virgo lives for it; internecine strife and an obsession with uniforms.

Moon in Libra — you know that diplomacy is war continued by other means; your weapon of choice is the charm offensive.

Moon in Scorpio — scarily focused aggression, ideal for silent surgical strikes just before dawn.

Moon in Sagittarius — Captain Reckless: you can't see what was wrong with the Charge of the Light Brigade.

Moon in Capricorn — your preferred tactic is to bury the enemy in paperwork.

Moon in Aquarius — intellectual warrior; you avoid "red mists" as you like to outbrain your opponents.

Moon in Pisces — aggressive but irresolute; unreliable under fire.


The scum also rises

And another thing. Your sun sign is modified by your rising sign. This is the zodiac sign that was skulking over the horizon at the very minute you were born. If your sun sign is your ego, then your rising sign gives you your public manners (such as they are), your Sunday worst. It's the painted smile behind which the real, disgusting you lurks. Some astrologers maintain that its malign influence affects what you look like. Be afraid.

You will probably be bitterly aggrieved to discover that, in the northern hemisphere, for tedious astronomical reasons, there are fewer people with Aries and Pisces rising, or ascending, than any other sign. (In other words, you have a short ascension span, ha-ha.) We say: good; there are only so many world dictators one little globe can take.


Venus and Aries

Just how much of a high-maintenance tease or bunny-boiler you are may depend on where the solar system's heartless tart (Venus) was blushingly dropping her handkerchief when you were born (see below). Oh, and Venus also has a say in how harmoniously you blend in with the rest of the world, but what do words like harmony have to do with the Darkside? Now, for astrological reasons that will fry your brain if I explain them here (basically, Venus is far too luxury-loving to move too far away from the Sun, and her orbital rate is in bed with Earth's), Venus only appears in your sun sign, or two signs on either side of it. In your case, rams, that means Venus will be in Aries, Aquarius, Pisces, Taurus, or Gemini. And this is what it does to your love and lust life.

Venus in Aries

You always get your man (or woman), often at gunpoint, and you are a tough love fanatic: whips, pain, domination — and that's just when you're on your own. You always hurt the one you love, on principle.

Venus in Aquarius

You may be gung-ho to storm love's citadel, but you know better than to charge at it with all flags waving. You have cunning plans involving decoys, disinformation, and playing dead.

Venus in Pisces

You are not above faking a war wound, or a dueling scar (so romantic!) or three, to incite pity and admiration in the heart of your love object. You know there's nothing more alluring than a wounded hero, even though you aren't one.

Venus in Taurus

Once the love target is in the crosshairs, you lock on and don't let go until you've brought him or her down; but you do provide a very cozy prisoner-of-love nest.

Venus in Gemini

Heavy-duty extreme flirting, usually while bear hunting, base jumping, gun running, or liberating small countries, and usually with the whole platoon. You know you're irresistible in distressed combats.


Mars and Aries

Ariens and Mars have a special relationship (see page 15). But just how confrontational, paranoid, and gagging for a fight you are depends on which area of your birthchart the bruiser planet Mars is being held back in by his buddies (leave it, Mars, he's not worth it). Mars is the next planet out from Earth, but paces its orbit more slowly (presumably to get some effective eyeballing in). It takes 2½ years for Mars to get around, and on the way it spends about two months of quality menacing time in each sign. As an Arien, you don't tolerate opposition (or even a mild difference of opinion); anybody who says otherwise is just asking for a good kicking. However, if you find your aggression comes out in an uncharacteristic peacenik mode, check out Mars' alibi at the time of your birth.


Check out the opposition

Your polar opposite sign is Libra: duplicitous, insincere, detached, and terminally indecisive. (For more about your darkly fascinating opposite number, see pages 201–231.) What would an adrenaline-fueled action junkie like you want with an indolent, vacillating, self-indulgent couch hogger like your average Libran? How did you come to this — shall we say — understanding? Well, like good cop and bad cop, or arch villain and fixer, you need each other to make the Darkside work for you. It's all about elements (undesirable ones, of course). You are Fire; Libra is Air. So it's only right that Libra should stand around admiring your big red firetruck as you rush to put out fires you probably started in the first place. Fire cannot burn without oxygen ...

As you thrust and strut about the world, issuing orders and going purple in the face if everyone does not leap to attention at once, don't you sense deep down the enigmatic smile and raised eyebrow of the zodiac's lounge lizard, mocking the way you waste so much energy on pointless shouting and tantrums? Ever wonder how a reckless, headstrong, inconsiderate bigot like you has managed to stay alive for so long?

Respect your inner Libran; it's the one thing that makes you look before you leap (sometimes); it surrounds you with a low but adequate mental guardrail of self-preservation that counteracts your death wish. Of course, if it gets too harmonious in there, you are stripped of your rank and made to get a real job.


Hard, fast, competitive

Sex is just another extreme sport as far as you are concerned, and you don't like to waste time; foreplay is for wimps. You are strictly a notches-on-the-bedpost kinda guy (or girl), so you like to multitask sometimes. Your Little Black Book is almost ready to be cataloged by the Library of Congress. You always need to be told that you are the first (and, naturally, best) lover that your partner's had, ever; you don't bother to do the social math that proves this is impossible without virginity becoming a renewable resource. Your affairs burn with a gemlike flame for, oh, several days, during which time you are extravagantly possessive and jealous every time your prey steps out for a comfort break. Lust does not, however, quench your competitive spirit. Of course, you have to do it harder, faster, longer, and quicker than anybody else, and naturally you always have to come first. (You silently count your partner's orgasms — just to make sure you are not being outclassed.)

What kind of love rat are you?

The worst. It's the winning, you see; the fighting off of all rivals, or defeating overwhelming odds (you are in Hawaii, they are in Alaska; they are Amish, you are a Texas Ranger, etc.); once you've got the prize, it's no longer what you want. You wander off to find a new challenge, abandoning the poor sap who believed you when you said you'd slash your wrists with a rusty blade if they did not come with you to be your love.


Leader of the pack

It's not that you don't want to relate, it's just that you can't do one-to-one, because you are the only one in the world. Do you see the difficulty? If only your friends and lovers would think of themselves as your flock, everything would fall into place. All they have to do is follow the flock rules you have kindly drawn up, which are: 1) do everything you say; 2) admire your every action; 3) never, ever criticize anything you do.

For all your leadership skills, you are a very poor judge of character, mainly because all sheep look the same to you, and you think empathy is a mild skin disease. You have no idea how a network functions, since you only know about linear chains of command that extend from you to everyone else. You have to be in control at any social event, even when you're a guest. Secretly you'd love there to be an emergency, so that you could show off. You insist on running your friends' and family's lives for them: they call you the drill sergeant behind your back; you're flattered. Plus, you get ragingly jealous if any of your friends demonstrates the slightest ability to do anything a nanometer better than you (and that includes breathing), or wins a prize in a competition you didn't enter. Then you are forced to cut them loose from your circle and get in new stock.

When it comes to romance, you have to make the running, otherwise the game is declared null and void. You fall in love hard and often, but out of love just as frequently, often just hours later.


My way or nothing

Some of the workforce simply will not follow your orders without question. Alright, so you are "only" the janitor, but is that the point? You resign or, more likely, smash your broom over your knees, toss the pieces at the boss, and march off, leaving others to clear up the mess.

You see, you have to run the show (although you don't need to be seen to, like Leo). Obviously you know better than anyone else how to do any job, even though you have no experience. You work on the principle that shouting with confidence and acting aggressive are the answer to everything, and the sad thing is you are almost right. Myopic employers hire you for your energy, direction, and drive (why, if you're that good, are you so available?). So you crash around, alienating the workforce and tearing down all the old systems, but not putting in anything to replace them, because you don't do detail; then they pay you off before the writs are served. Astute employers hire you to run down perfectly viable companies for barely legal tax reasons.


Excerpted from Blame Your Planet by Stella Hyde. Copyright © 2004 Ivy Press Limited. Excerpted by permission of Red Wheel/Weiser, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Catching the Moon,
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