Somehow it was the opposite of death

Detachment was needed only for the likes of astrophysics, quantum mechanics, all painstaking matters so delicate in their refracted light that intellects such as ours would sooner yield to the prudish machine. There was no vulgarity in the sciences of measurement, nothing to laugh at, to drink to, to weep about like Russians guzzling vodka and despairing of God a hundred years ago in books written by bearded titans. Bloomberg and I needed men, mass consciousness, great vulgar armies surging dumbly across the plains. Bloomberg weighed three hundred pounds. This itself was historical. I revered his weight. It was an affirmation of humanity's reckless potential; it went beyond legend and returned through mist to the lovely folly of history. To weigh three hundred pounds. What devout vulgarity. It seemed a worthwhile goal for prospective saints and flagellants. The new asceticism. All the visionary possibilities of the fast. To feed on the plants and animals of earth. To expand and wallow. I cherished his size, the formlessness of it, the sheer vulgar pleasure, his sense of being overwritten prose. Somehow it was the opposite of death. "Feet retain the qualities they possessed at birth," Bloomberg said. "They're either quick or they're slow and there's nothing you can do about it. Tweego knows this. But he keeps after me anyway." "Tweego is halfman, halfpig. All Creed's assistants have their piggish aspects but Tweego heads the list. He's fully halfpig. Tweego, Vern Feck and Hauptfuhrer. Mythology chose to ignore the species." "I respect Tweego in a way. He thinks in one direction, straight ahead. He just aims and fires. He has ruthlessness of mind. That's something I respect. I think it's a distinctly modern characteristic. The systems planner. The management consultant. The nuclear stragegist. It's a question of fantastic singlemindedness. That's something I genuinely respect." "It's all angles," I said. "The angle at which great masses collide. The angle at which projectiles are aimed. The angle at which blunt instruments strike a particular surface. Consider our respective positions." "Go ahead, I'm listening."