Martin Drake

RIP Devon Pitlor

2,043 posts in this topic

This is incredibly sad to hear. Devon was one of the most brilliant and promising writers of this century. PWR was extremely lucky that he deigned to share his literary gift with us, despite all the evident rancor and jealousy exhibited toward him by the slovenly lower tiers.

Devon may have passed from this mortal coil, but his literary gift to humanity is immortal. For that we should all be thankful.

:candle:

Well, I always thought you and Devon Pitlor might be one and the same so I guess this is one mystery solved.

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Nice description of one who can slip out of time and resonate to the season

without compromising his marriage. Very rare in these times. Heightened

energy is there in the hours surrounding the autumnal equinox in the

Northern Hemisphere. All Saints Day is only an echo of an older and more

pagan occasion to welcome the return of sundry energy beings who slip in as

the vernality of spring and summer turns to rot. Some are positive, others

negative and threatening because, after all, their sense of morality is not ours

nor is it of this sphere. But the heightened energy levels and the shift in

magnetic polarity which comes with the dying cyle does attract and beckon

them. A crack in time is left wide open. A dimensional seam in a fabric

that is already putrified. A portal. A door.

And through that door....

And through that door we can catch a glimpse of the coming race as it really

will be when we are most likely turned to dust: Beings conjured with a

different vibratory polarity and a different band length of energy. The

ultimate mutation. Man's future will not be determined by the greening of

the planet or anything like that. It will be summoned upon us suddenly by

the browing of the planet in the ultimate death cycle as we give way to an

old breed turned new, a breed returned from its self-imposed isolation to

once again claim rightful leadership of sentience on this sphere. The

transition will not be mellow. It will not be introspective or involve souls

like the Dalai Lama or Buckminster Fuller or anyone else that preaches the

calm metaphysics of meditation. It will come laden with vast and necessarily

destructive energy--the "New Man," emerged from the depths of the earth

where he has so long hidden. "I have seen the New Man, and I was scared

in his presence!" It's an old quote from a famous person, and it doesn't

matter who. What matters is that our species will be blotted away like so

much spilled milk on the kitchen floor. Our weak, anaemic energy levels

and limited lifespans will be transplanted by ancients-come-anew in whose

presence we will shrink, wither and vanish. Sexual, intellectual and physical

energy peaks that we can only imagine in speculative fiction will become the

birthright of the Sentient on this planet, and even our bloodless, blushless

history will be erased in the wake of the coming tide of dominant mutant

leadership. Mankind as we know it will be consigned to a footnote on the

margin of history within a sweeping record of real life that we would never

even be able to read even if we survived the onslaught of the New Race,

which we can't. Mankind as we know it will be reduced to a vague

inscription at the base of a meaningless stone obelisque-marker, to be buried

no doubt beneath the dust of time's passage within mere decades of the

Advent. And mankind's puny gods....all reduced to the fiction that they are

and always have been. One eroding stone obelisque jutting upward from the

sands: Here was the human race. No one cares. No energy being of the

New Race will lend a moment's glance at that. We are dust. Superceded by

a dynamic vibratory sentience that we cannot even fathom. Autumnal

equinox, and the inevitable springs upon us.

And you're right. It's fall. Perhaps the last one for us.

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Casperm_zpsa13c96c1.jpg

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The above are but a few excerpts from his pre-PWR writings, which are so voluminous that even a 'best of' compilation would run into the hundreds of pages.

It's notable that he ended his final story with a cameo from "Joey", and then after years of urging from his fans, finally decided to publish in book form.

Looking back, he must have realized it was time.

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Exquisite compositional technician...what a mastery of the language...

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This is incredibly sad to hear. Devon was one of the most brilliant and promising writers of this century. PWR was extremely lucky that he deigned to share his literary gift with us, despite all the evident rancor and jealousy exhibited toward him by the slovenly lower tiers.

Devon may have passed from this mortal coil, but his literary gift to humanity is immortal. For that we should all be thankful.

:candle:

agreed.

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A failure on so many levels

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I guess he saw the Negro of Longshanks... long something... :dunno:

didn't someone post a banner long long ago, saying Gary Kolar was a street kid who killed himself, or died from drugs... whatever, and this author assumed the name?

or was it Devon was the kid's name assumed by said author? :scratchinghead:

who the fuck remembers this shite anyway.

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The photo Devon used as an avatar was supposedly the photo of a kid who had died or maybe killed himself. I don't remember all the details.

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I believe Gary Kolar was identified as Devon a looong time ago on PWR. He used to write for Creative Loafing in Atlanta.

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For this to be a proper tribute thread, two more excerpts bear repeating, and these have working links.

While not his best writing, these two brief tales set the stage for much of what was to follow, right down through the most recent Devon stories.

http://paranormal.ab...y_june01_05.htm

The Boys Who Live Forever

by Timmistral

My entire family comes from Brittany (part of France), and though I was born in the US, I lived in Quimper, Brittany for a few years and went to college in Brest, Brittany. I have lots of family in that part of the world, and I speak, read and write French as well as I do English. While living in Quimper (the third largest city in Brittany) I had a friend named Joel, an exceptional person, who, though not well educated, seemed to know everything. Joel was a native of Quimper, but he was also an orphan. A fairly well-to-do lady had taken him and his brother in as foundlings. Both Joel and his brother Patrick were violent, reckless, dangerous young men. They had been in jail many times for disregarding the law. If, say, they wanted a car, they stole it. If they wanted to climb up to the top of a 500 foot cathedral spire and tie on their shirts to show they'd been there, they did it despite the Quimper municipal authorities. If they wanted to go to Ireland for a few days, they commandeered a boat and sailed over - not a small task considering the coasts of both Ireland and Brittany. Both were excellent sailors, athletes, etc.; in fact, what made them so scary is that there seemed to be nothing they were incapable of doing. I remember others immediately dropping out of athletic contests when Patrick and Joel were involved (and not in jail). And speaking of jail, Joel broke out of the gendarmerie jail in Quimper four times because he "knew the way out."

In Brittany, buildings like cathedrals, city halls and even jails are ancient, some dating initially to medieval times. Joel and Patrick knew everything about every building, especially the ancient ones. They knew which stones moved revealing unknown passages, etc. I once accompanied Joel in the middle of the night into an abandoned medieval chateau, a property of the French state. He knew a passage from outside which was totally invisible. I also went into the Quimper city hall with him through an unused sewer. He broke into these kind of places for fun...or to say he could do it because he "knew the town" and "knew all its secrets." This seemed to be true in incident after incident. He knew things that were true in Quimper families hundreds of years ago - like skeletons in the closet. He held his foster mother hostage because of things he knew about illicit land deals in the early l9th Century which would have jeopardized her holdings in the present.

His foster mother tried to have him (and Patrick) incarcerated several times because she was afraid of this... and other things. Many, many people in Quimper were afraid of Joel and Patrick. I was afraid of them too, and I was glad Joel had for some reason chosen me as a friend, because, frankly, these two were ominous. Good rumor had it that Patrick had gouged someone's eyes out and that Joel had killed someone. I say good rumor because it was repeated by so many normal-seeming people. All around Quimper there are tiny Breton towns. Joel was known by the damnest people in all of them.... extremely old sailors, cafe owners, pea farmers... peasants - especially what we'd call peasants. Lots and lots of really old people knew and feared Joel and Patrick. All of what I written happened in my 20s.

Joel and Patrick were respectively one year and two years younger than me, more or less 21-26 years old. Both considered themselves better than anyone, aristocratic even, superior. Both knew Nazi-types left over from the occupation of Brittany. They endorsed vehemently ideas of racial and ethnic superiority. They called themselves "evolutionary mutants" and told others that, while they possessed no supernatural powers, they were evolutionarily superior in all other ways. And their looks, brains, connections, language, points of reference, and physical abilities seemed to confirm it. School dropouts, they should have been country bumpkins, but Joel, for example, could quote entire pages of Nietzche and Kant (especially Nietzche) by heart. They spoke no language but French, but their intellectual range also seemed to be boundless. Joel always claimed that he had had a mysterious life, but refused to speak about it during the time that we were best friends, but a few very old peasant types told me that Joel had "been around for ever." "I knew him when I was a child," one said, "he had a different name and lived on a farm a little ways out of town, but it was him."

Other old people in Breton villages said more or less the same thing: Joel and Patrick didn't age. They just changed names from era to era and reappeared in different homes. The time we broke into the Quimper city hall, Joel found a folder, I think it was an old police folder, which had perfect - I mean perfect - likenesses of him and his brother in middle 19th Century garb surrounded by strangers. "My ancestors," Joel said in a way that I didn't believe him. The pictures were of him and Patrick - period. And he'd pulled them out of a forgotten locker in a subbasement of an ancient building. These and many other things convinced me that Joel and Patrick were indeed superannuaries. This all happened between 1970 and 79. Both boys have since disappeared. Relatives of mine in Quimper say they are not gone but living somewhere else in Brittany, some other village, under new names. There seems to be evidence of this.

I drove out of this world for 20 minutes

From: apacheunger 6/7/2001 1:13 pm

To: ALL (1 of 2213)

1764.1

I swear this is a true story and my current boyfriend suggested I write it here and see whether anyone has any explanation. I was driving (for my job selling photo-cells) in a rather deserted part of a northern state, which I'd rather not mention yet, when I started seeing lizard-like things about 2 to 3 feet high standing upright near the sides of the gravel road I was on. They looked very "intelligent" not like lizards or wild beasts or anything. I thought about aliens, etc., but these looked earthbound, as I said like lizards with brains and a sense of purpose. Also they seemed to follow me with their heads and eyes. I was in a nothern state where it really snows and is cold, and I know there are no lizards there. I was also there on business. These lizard-like things were really ugly, so I started to drive faster...and I swear the road turned into a light brown packed earth drive, and the trees and such were all different like nothing I've ever seen anywhere. There were funny colored plants with curly leaves that really didn't look like leaves and vines that smelled funny (I had the window down). The whole scene was unreal and the worst...I swear...was that small, squat human-like people were around the sides of this earthn trail working and not paying much attention to me. They were gathering big triangular fruits and hitting them with sticks. Crazy as this seems they looked like dwarfes or lepratchauwns or little people like fairies, etc. They were very hunched over and seemed more wider than tall like they grew from side to side instead of up. Some did look at me as I passed in my car and shook their heads as if to say I had made a mistake. I actually wet my pants I was so scared...but I drove out just like I drove in suddenly and then everything was normal. Has anyone had this same experience?????????? I am a professional salesperson with a college education.

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There are several mentions of "Gary Kolar" and proxywhore.com via Google.

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I guess he saw the Negro of Longshanks... long something... :dunno:

didn't someone post a banner long long ago, saying Gary Kolar was a street kid who killed himself, or died from drugs... whatever, and this author assumed the name?

or was it Devon was the kid's name assumed by said author? :scratchinghead:

who the fuck remembers this shite anyway.

He told so many lies, who could keep up with them all ? :dunno:

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This should be its own thread.

http://www.proxywhor...dpost&p=4115316

I have been instructed to let all of Devon Pitlor's fans know that he has passed. His real name was Gary Kolar. I have known Gary (Devon) for years and I have read and reviewed all of his stories. Gary published his books, The Strange Fiction of Devon Piitlor, volumes I, II and III before he died. They can be purchased on Barnes and Noble and amazon.com. I am saddened by his passing but I know his stories will live on. My pen name is Katje Kaase.

Rest in peace, dear friend. May you find the Living Fresco you wrote about in your story, 1952.

Kathy Kuzma

He was a phenomenally talented writer, and a seemingly bottomless well of original ideas and creative energy.

The Devon stories represent only a fraction of his prodigious output.

This forum, nay the entire universe of online discourse, is substantially diminished by his absence.

Requiescat in pace, Gary.

:candle:

As I said in the other thread

Created 8 hours ago, Arrangements Pending

http://www.jones-wyn...ies/Gary-Kolar/

Certainly a talent like Devons' was not a secret from his family.

If you really believe this Martin I note there are no condolences yet.

You first.

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so... no more on African economics?

:oldangry:

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It's interesting that I get Defiler's pic when I run a Google image search on "Katje Kasse"... :hmm:

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It's interesting that I get Defiler's pic when I run a Google image search on "Katje Kasse"... :hmm:

I think she's a real person.

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It's interesting that I get Defiler's pic when I run a Google image search on "Katje Kasse"... :hmm:

I think she's a real person.

She seems to be a published poet and an ardent follower of Devon's...

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