Wondermentalist

Bit of text about Liv

Liv Torc is a performance poet, journalist and writer who seeks the humanity and absurdity within the human condition and when she finds it, she strips it naked and kicks it…  

Blessed with seriously entertaining facial expressions and incredibly unpredictable limbs – Liv is a recent slam winner (Exeter Vibraphonic 2008), a festival circuit aficionado, a University comet and a wedding smash. She has performed at Matt Harvey’s ‘Wondermentalist Cabaret’ and is a regular at ‘One Night Stanza’ and the Exeter Phoenix.  

If you like what you see and hear - why not ask/pay Liv Torc to come and perform at your festival, bar, club, cabaret night, surprise birthday party, living room… Rest assured she always turns up on time, speaks clearly into the microphone and is genuinely enjoyed and heartily clapped - even by those people who usually claim not to like poetry.

And some poems…

 

Ceiling

 

When I look up at my bedroom ceiling

I will often smile and think of you

Not just because of the great sex

But because you had ostentatious coving too.

 

***

 

Eyebrow Traitors

 

I try to say ‘I mean no harm’

But my eyebrows arch and raise alarm

So I smile them down

Like a scary clown

But they chase my nose into a frown

My eyebrows will not let me lie

When I attempt to act sober

They stay sky high

So instead of appearing stoically calm

I look like an escapee from a funny farm

My eyebrows are the conductors of my face

They know my true feelings – and they betray

(In their charming but annoying way)

Expressing far more across my face

Than passive, calm

Unthinking grace.

 

***

 

Satnaving-it

 

For those of you who need a little a guidance

For those among us who have lost our way

It’s time to wake up to the Toms Toms

Can hear them say

Do a U Turn

When it is possible

Do a U Turn

Who cares if it’s the dual carriageway?

 

It’s Sat Nav Sunday

Hip Hip Hooray

Life just doesn’t get any funnier than this

 

It’s time the Atlas touting morally superior

Jumped upon the band wagon

Joined the Sat Nav fuelled hysteria

Why not be a follower

It’s tough to be a leader

Plus no one wants to fuck

The designated map reader

 

Yeah, signs are square for a reason - man

The Sat Nav driver has anarchy skills

We don’t just follow it for direction

We do it for the thrills…

 

So dump your moral indignation

Lose the internal compass

Get off the rails

For you don’t know the true meaning of adventure

Until you’ve followed a Sat Nav through North Wales

 

Turn half left

Then immediately turn sharp right

Straight off the well lit clearway

Into the dead of night

 

Doubt will be your enemy

Put your foot down

And just go with it

This is the biggest adventure of modern living

Also Known As –Satnavingit

 

Sat Nav it along canal paths

Down a dirt track or country lane

Give up your sense of reason

To the terrifying logic of the satellite brain 

 

The trick is to bite your lip

And keep on driving

Ignore the barbed wire fence

It’s all about trust

And abandoning common sense

 

You see life’s a perilous journey

But with a Sat Nav

You will never feel entirely on your own

For no matter how narrow, steep or dark the road

At least it’s trying to get you home

 

Can you hear the Tom Toms baby?

Can you hear them say?

It’s Sat Nav Sunday

Hip Hip Hooray…

No the future is never going to get any funnier than this.

 

Congratulations you have reached your final destination.

 

 

***

 

The pros and cons of being good with money

 

You have no desire to be rich

If you did, surely you would be better with money?

Check the change in your hand

Sew up the holes in your pockets

Opt for the slightly cheaper chocolate.

Keep all your receipts in shoe boxes

Piled high in the loft

Insulation against that rainy day

You will never have saved for.

 

You obviously have no aptitude for responsible living.

No intention of making your father proud.

You will never see the bills lined up on a toast rack,

Awaiting there turn to parade to the post box

Leaving your grasp light

With the comfort of order

 

No, you will never be successful with money

There will always be too many Saturday mornings

Spent anxiously tapping your fingers on the cashier’s counter

Pending the results of your credit check.

 

And when you die

No one will fight over your will

Or carve up your estate into oily pieces of paintings

Be saved by the windfall of your tragic salvation

Be secretly happy you’re dead.

 

 

***

 

 

The Birdie Song

 

Joni Mitchell said we start out like a rough stone

And life knocks bits off

Until we end up smooth.

I think it’s more like pass the parcel;

Every time the music stops

Some f*cker rips off another layer

Takes their sweet and chucks you on

Right into the middle chorus of ‘The Birdie Song’.

 

So, you leap haphazardly from sweaty crutch

To outstretched palm

Letting each willing participant

Wrestle with your sellotape stuck to their arm.

Some people barely touch you,

While others grab hold and shake

Before sending you off flying

With wrapping paper streaming in your wake.

 

Occasionally the music stops for ages

While you languish in a friendly embrace

But be careful not to get to comfy

Or you could end up with jelly and ice cream

All over your face.

 

Sometimes a tender player

Will allow you to evolve naturally beyond your past

While an uninvited guest

Tears three layers off at once

And makes you grow up way too fast…

 

If in doubt make sure the man who controls the music

Has got your best interest mixed in

With the pausing of the beat

Either that or keep you hand on the remote control

And the remote control hidden under your seat.

 

So you keep on turning circles

Round the party of your life

Through the hands of friends, enemies and colleagues

And a couple who try calling you ‘their wife’

Most guests you are glad you invited

While two or three were a definite mistake

But not matter what their contribution

Everyone leaves with a goody bag

And a slice of cake.

 

But is in those moments between fingers

When I you are unaccompanied and flying free

In those seconds when no one can quite touch you

They are the most magical to me.