Paul Christian Stevens has boated down the Chao Phraya River in Thailand, supped on shark’s fin in Hong Kong, drunk ale in England, breakfasted with orangutangs in Singapore, stood at the Tree of Life in Bahrain, sipped kava in Fiji and Coca-Cola in the Cook Islands, traveled up the Gordon River in Tasmania by flying boat, and journeys often to the Heart of Darkness. Born in Yorkshire, England, Paul now lives in Australia with his wife and numerous children, pets and citrus trees, and teaches Literature. Editor of The Chimaera and The Shit Creek Review, Paul is widely published online and in print, most recently or forthcoming in Shakespeare’s Monkey, Lucid Rhythms, Soundzine, qarrtsiluni and Mannequin Envy.
More from The Journal
- Postcard Prose
By Kelly Hill
Trying to wrap my mind around living on a tropical island for thirteen years and never once seeing the ocean, I stumbled through my Indonesian vocabulary to say, It’s good. It’s big.
- Travel Notes
By Sandra Larson
A dinosaur dangles over my grandson at the Field Museum near a pink thumb that pops into the prom picture of my granddaughter dressed in strapless red leaving her house in Medina …
- Travel Notes
By Megan Hallinan
The bill in question is actually a 2,000 West African franc note, and it’s the equivalent of about four U.S. dollars. A helpful sum, really, but as I clutch the weathered crinkle in my sweaty palm, its value feels as dirty as the grime that is undoubtedly being transferred to my fingers.
to Egg and Berry brewery, to the pack / of Czechy words I made but didn’t work / in this pink town. I’d readily go back / to your best spots, the unfired gun, that perk //
By Jason Warren
And if the neap tides of my beauty / sadden him, I cannot help it: / I hang high, the waxy night light …
By Anastasia Vassos
Three thousand ancestors ask how I straddle / the sea, a foot on either shore. //