Few people owned a clock when Samuel Pepys was born above his father’s tailoring shop in 1633. But they had the day and night, then as ever, and the seasons and phases of the moon.

Most of us already know something of Eugene O’Neill. His plays are as ineluctable as their characters’ poisoned fates; even if we duck The Emperor Jones in high school, we are caught later by our neighborhood troupe’s Anna Christie, or by the Broadway revival of Long Day’s Journey into Night that our parents believe might finally make us appreciate them.

Listeners to the Acousmatic Theater Hour, which airs on Sunday nights at 9pm on WFMU, have by now heard Caroline Bergvall reading 47 different English translations of the first sentence of the Inferno; Lumberob revealing, for the first time, the spirit animals of pro golfers; long recordings of work by Richard Foreman, Kathie Kosmider, Will Eno, and other notables; and, as they say, much more.

When she was nineteen or twenty, Sibyl Kempson began to see cats everywhere she went. They would “just sort of come around corners,” or be sitting in small groups along the path when she walked in the woods.

Kentucky-Montana is characterized by several impossibilities, the number one impossibility being that the rivers have no banks.

MELANIA TRUMP Christmas is like ice cream.
You have to eat it fast or it melts.