I've been reading a number of things and also this list of numbers, which is now my favourite Wikipedia page. In particular I was reading this morning about Kaprekar's constant, a uselessly awesome result. You take any 4-digit number with at least 2 distinct digits (leading 0s allowed), sort the digits into ascending and descending order, subtract the smaller of these sorted numbers from the larger, and repeat, and eventually you will get stuck on the number 6174. There is basically no point to this, besides that it's pretty cool.
I've picked up another Doris Lessing--Briefing for a Descent into Hell. (The cover says, "Her most brilliant and imaginative novel".) I have no coherent thoughts on it yet. I read Particularly Cats last summer because Lessing's writing and cats are both things that I enjoy. Lessing's writing on cats is brilliant. This passage from the book is just one of my favourite pieces of writing:
[S]he would crouch and fascinate me with her eyes. I stared into them, almond-shaped in their fine outline of dark pencil, around which was a second pencilling of cream. Under each, a brush-stroke of dark. Green, green eyes; but in shadow, a dark smoky gold -- a dark-eyed cat. But in transparent globes of the eyeball, slices of veined gleaming butterfly wing. Wings like jewels -- the essence of wing.(The actual passage is a little longer, but to stay within "fair use" guidelines, I cut it down. Obviously, everyone should just read the entire book.)
A leaf insect is not to be distinguished from a leaf -- at a casual glance. But then, look close: the copy of a leaf is more than leaf -- furled, veined, delicate, as if a jeweller had worked it, but a jeweller with his tongue very slightly in his cheek, so that the insect is on the verge of mockery. Look, says the leaf insect, the fake: has any leaf ever been as exquisite as I am? Why, even where I have copied the imperfections of a leaf, I am perfect. Do you ever want to look at a mere leaf again, having seen me, the artifice?
In grey cat's eyes lay the green shade of a jade butterfly's wing, as if an artist had said: what could be as graceful, as delicate as a cat? What more naturally the creature of the air? What air-being has affinity with cat? Butterfly, butterfly of course! And there, deep in cat's eyes lies this thought, hinted at merely, with a half-laugh; and hidden behind the fringes of lashes, behind the fine brown inner lid, and the evasions of cat-coquetry. (Doris Lessing, Particularly Cats)