Blogging · Fiction · short




Men don’t know the pain of mascara stains… Wearing your sorrow on your cheeks like a warrior. Letting the darkness of your soul leak on your skin…

Blackened tears spelling despair.

Somber fears running like rivers…

Marcara writing an S.O.S on your face.



14 thoughts on “Mascara…

      1. “The Police” (band) agree – “I’m sending out an SOS” but then they mess it up by singing “I hope that someone gets my message in a bottle” – well of course if you had a bottle and a pencil/paper you’d probably write PAN or MAYDAY or EMERGENCY or HELP and give some reasonable detail as to the problem at hand rather than write SOS, because those letters are just a convenient way of remembering the morse code prosign “dit-dit-dit-dah-dah-dah-dit-dit-dit” (…—…) which at 9 elements is the longest number of elements in a single letter or signal (there is no ‘inter-letter spacing, so it isn’t 3 letters as such, so not really SOS – its sometimes written SOS with a line above all three letters to indicate it isn’t really three letters as keyed on a morse key).

        Of course if you are marooned on a deserted island and write SOS in the sand, its one of the easiest things to remember and write, and rescuers will certainly get the message and not be pedantic about the missing line over the top or the fact you used the wrong emergency code.

        On second thoughts … marooned on a deserted island. You’d be mad to write anything … just live happily ever after 🙂 (sorry for the rant. I learnt morse code).


  1. And having ranted somewhat about SOS – my other reply.

    I felt a little sad at this post. I understand, but this has more sides for me.

    Firstly, there are some men who surely do “know the pain of mascara stains”, and probably in ways I will never grok. I don’t wear it myself, but I don’t judge those who do, and I know some who identify this way and call them friends.

    Secondly, wearing pain in an indelible darkened inky flow for the world to see may be a good thing, especially if you have people close to you who do pay attention and do care and will ask the hard questions and who aren’t afraid to put their own soul out to be exposed while embracing yours. People who can take a backhand in your frustration, pain or anger and hang around for you to recover and understand its a process and that ‘just getting over stuff’ simply doesn’t happen. Ever. With some things it takes a long time. Sometimes it’s never. But we go on.

    Imagine being a man (One who doesn’t wear mascara, though It wouldn’t matter if you did) – tears are not allowed. The darkness of your soul forever trapped, suppressed, stifled, desperately restrained. And as many fears as anyone else. With the aforementioned, probably moreso. All held within, never spoken, never exposed, driving you insane because surely nobody would ever understand and besides, you are a man, strong, in control, dominant of your surroundings. Or supposed to be. I used to understand this more than was comfortable, but now I’ve recovered to some degree – tears are ok, I just don’t wear mascara 😉

    I hope I didn’t miss the point …


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