Till It Ain't
It is what it is till it ain't what it ain't.
A film and song studio.
It is what it is till it ain't what it ain't.
The other take. Only here.
The same road, taken slower.
They say he might be me? Could be.
An elegy sung from a porch to a kid under the stars.
More songs ship through the summer. They land here first.
Stuck with no clean way out, which is what a bad hand is.
An Oklahoma railroad idiom for a bad card, played out as a song and then as a picture. Whose hand it is never resolves. Song first; the film serves it.
A cattle pasture with an RV on it. Population: you, if you care to listen.
Not a town and not a hometown. Woods County, Oklahoma, thirteen miles from the father's bar and thirteen from the grandfather's tracks. Where the songs come from, filmed the way it looks.
He recovers bodies from the river. It’s the only honest job in the logging trade.
A frontier noir set on the St. Croix River during the 1880s Minnesota logging boom — when lumber barons built their fortunes on the backs of the men who rode the log drives and died in them. Fargo meets Landman, set in an era when white pine was America's most valuable commodity.
Films and songs ship when they ship. Notes from the studio go out through the same door as the writing.
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