I was born in the seventies, age of bad haircuts and grainy colour photos.

I think the seventies caught the last red rays of the dying sun of this innocence, but were already a little cold and drab.

I feel that Nagai Kafu was a writer who cold stitch together apparently meaningless moments like these into a lyrical whole, and has enhanced my ability to do the same with my own life.

I think I'm probably too close to the seventies to be able to analyse them (it?) effectively.

I don't believe in sexual love.

I was born in the seventies, age of bad haircuts and grainy colour photos.

If you look at the ox-herding pictures - specifically the newer set of ten pictures rather than the older set of eight - you see that after the blank circle of the void, the cycle comes back to a river flowing by the roots of a tree (both strong symbols of nature, the life-force, the unconscious) and to the wanderer returning to the market place, which is the realm of human society and activity.