The book

“A Sicilian along the Cattahoochee is a blend of humor, noir, science-fiction, alchemy and electronic Engineering” (Bob Bylan)

Looking for a (American) publisher!


Chapter 1 The Cannolo, the Arancino and Minchia too! I choose the sea for my last memory of Sicily before leaving for my long journey […] Acitrezza is a magic place […] “Si, sugnu ri cca. Mi chiamu Turi. Turi u pescecane ppi l’esattezza, (Yes, I’m from here. My name is Turi, Turi the Shark to be precise) […] So, I have a “cannolo” and an “arancino” wrapped in paper […] It’s the time of the green coppola one. He hesitates … doesn’t know what to play. The minchiata (bullshit) is about to take shape. […] Reassuming: if you come to Sicily you can put the word minchia here and there, just take care to not be wrong using it. […] I turn on my rememberthoughts saying: “Acitrezza, September 09, 2015. Tomorrow we set off for Atlanta. Bit scaried of the flight […]

Chapter 2 Crazy: Greenland! Dublin… I am looking through the window of the Bono Vox hotel, which overlooks the river, at Temple Bar. There is one man completely drunk that swings between the road and the river […] The plane to Charlotte was scheduled early in the morning […] “What’s your ingiuria (nickname)?”, I said at the green shirt one. “Cacalacasa”, (literally “defecate in the house”) he answered. “Cacalacasa!!!”, I gasped .“Si, si Cacalacasa […] … trough a porthole appeared Greenland […] Angelo lived not far from my home … that’s where I met Ciumi and Gea, two beautiful eagles […] A few hours later here I was in America: Charlotte. I had won my match against the circadian disynchronosis (jet lag).

Are you a publisher searching for a book that speaks about Cacalacasa and Testapalla, the hot dog at the Varsity, how to approach Sicilian girls, the library in Roswell and much more else? Perfect, perfect… go here and urgently contact me

Chapter 3 “Grandpa Poseidon, his son Atlans and aunt Sicily” “I am terrified … don’t tell me why … but I am terrified” […] “That’s Atlanta”, said the big guy. We landed in perfect time in one of the largest airports in the world. “We landed … minchia … we landed!” […] Zeus, or Jupiter between one orgy and the next, handed out positions to his relatives […] Among the ten scions was his firstborn Atlas. Daddy Poseidon gifted this latter with a Sea: the Atlantic Sea. […] I am a descendant of Poseidon, father of Atlas, king of Atlantis. Atlanta is the direct result.

Chapter 4 A Sicilian along the Chattahoochee Still, in Sicily, the lava is so hard that when we want to point out that someone is stubborn we say “you can be stubborn like a mule”, “Hai na testa ri sceccu” or “your head is harder than lava stone”, “Hai a testa cchiu dura da petra lavica” […]. When the Alcantara passes by one lights a cigarette; When the Chattahoochee passes by one stands and pays attention […]. It was “ground zero of sexual hedonism” Alice said. I didn’t understand what “ground zero sexual hedonism” meant but it did not take me long, not even for a “mule head” like me, to realize that we were not talking about kites. […]. The days pass by and at every tick of the time the puzzle begins to take shape. It’s my first week in Atlanta. I do not want to leave anymore. It took a week to make me fall in love with this place. […] “Hi Giovanni, how ya doin?” suddenly JC says. Minchia! And how would I feel, dear JC? Great. I’m in a movie and I am the main actor: A Sicilian along the Chattahoochee!

Chapter 5 You Jazz we Tarantella, you Donought we Cassatella. But the real ques-tion is: is the Marranzano the Godfather of all instruments in the world? The doughnuts were behind the counter. I always chose a cream one. I looked at the doughnuts and I smiled thinking of Homer Simpson.”In Sicily I would have had a “cassatella of Agira”14 in its place”, I thought. […] The marranzano is a sort of “mafioso” instrument, because if you do not know how to play it, it can cut your tongue. So the questions arise spontaneously: was the Marranzano or the Mafia born first? Is it right to define the Marranzano, the Godfather of music? […] “Atlanta, September 18th, Walton on the Chattahoochee: a man in his underwear sitting at the balcony is overlooking the forest.
“Sugnu iu…” (That’s me).

Chapter 6 What, four Sicilians wandering around Atlanta and its surroundings do they think? What?!? Elio, who is a contractor and in my opinion suffers from manic obsessions, wondered from day one how everything could be perfectly maintained and this thought did not give him any peace. “… but look there is not a scratch, a flower out of place, the grass is cut all at the same length, houses don’t show even a small crack or a faded color … Minchia, how the fuck do they do it?”, observed my friend.
Elio’s power lies in the fact that he can continue with these observations forever, and he makes you think: “actually how the fuck can it be?”. However, usually, I don’t give in to him and don’t say anything. […] We drove up to the mythical Horsetown, 1231 Shallowford Rd Marietta. It was a place for cowboys and for Sicilians who wanted to be cowboys. Like Elio. And testapalla of course. Testapalla, here, would have been a star. But, maybe, cacalacasa didn’t amuse the same. […] First, however, Elio and I passed from the laundromat where Elio had the opportunity to torment himself with a new discovery: a tablet which put in the dryer would iron our clothes. “How the fuck can that be?”, said Elio. As a matter of fact …How the fuck can that be?

Chapter 7 The Sicilian Motorcycle writer I remember that when I was eighteen, rather than heading to a nightclub or staying up all night just fooling around, I’d rather wake up early in the morning and run my motorcycle through the villages in the quietness of inland Sicily. […] Sicily is a set that has no script.
Because something always happens.
Like magic! […] I talked about landscape, motorcycle and radio. We could also say: colors, reflections, meetings.

Chapter 8 A aaaaaaaaaaaa! In Atlanta, at 7 o’clock in the morning I’d have breakfast at the Corner Bakery Cafe. A few blocks from the Walton, between Akers Mill and Cobb. […] There were always four black girls: I can only remember the name of Velesia, then there was the girl with the beautiful braided hair, the girl that seemed Mama Africa and the Ethiopian American girl. “Ehyyy ciaaoo … como stai?” Was the usual good morning from some of them. “Double Espresso, please”. Often, when they saw me, the girls talked to each other and giggled. “Your coffee” thundered Mama Africa
“Thank you”. “A aaaaa…” was the classic response of Mama Africa. […] Then, I discovered that many people in Atlanta say “a aaaaa” Etna had erupted the previous day, I found it out reading the front page of USA Today “Mount Etna still angry!” read the title. It was the 8th of December 2015. It was a crazy feeling!

Chapter 9 Ebenezer: the temple of a sympathetic God Giovanni “Il pazzo”, “the crazy man”, they called me. No…absolutely no idea that austerity would come. […] “This is my wife”. “A aaaaa”, Velesia, Mama Africa and the Ethiopian American replied chorus. “Didn’t tell you that she would have said aaaaaa?”, I said to Silvana. […] 101 Jackson St NE, Atlanta, GA 30312, United States: elegantly dressed African Americans, entered the temple of Ebenezel, in the center of Atlanta. […]Then another song. And then another. “Minchia!”, I was officially knock out!
The intensity of the sound, the majesty of the organ… […] Standing on the promises, written over a hundred years earlier was a fatal blow to my sensitivity. “Minchia, minchia, minchia”, I tripled one step away from the imminent collapse. I started to cry, I thought that I wouldn’t be able resist this emotion. […] When we came out we were hungry and went to “commit suicide” at my beloved The Varsity’s

Chapter 10 Love: Maris and Totò All this a few yards from the luxury and the well being of downtown. “Come on, calm down. Something is wrong. And what the hell, this can’t be so!”, Said Elio. “What a figure! Four Sicilians who come from the land of the Godfather, of the lupare, of the machines that blow themselves up and so on and so on who are frightened by four harmless vagabonds! ” […] I will not talk about the huge pool in which they swam, back and forth like the zombies of Courtland street, sharks, small fish, mussels, crustaceans and the legendary Maris, the white whale symbol of the aquarium that, just think, has spent twenty one years in an aquarium! […] Also in this case, as in the church at Ebenezer, I felt only a very great feeling: Love. […]The Mafia is a human phenomenon and like all human phenomena it is destined to come to an end”. As Giovanni Falcone26 said. […] Maris the whale was on all the posters of the Georgia aquarium as much as the small Totò Cascio was the icon of the “Nuovo Cinema Paradiso”.

Chapter 11 U cunnutu (the betrayed husband) Who knows why in Sicily all those who have almond eyes for us are Chinese and all those with dark skin are Turks!, I thought looking at the Chinese neighbor who was Korean anyway.
In short, for a Sicilian, there are only whites, Turks and Chineses. […] “A aaaa”, she answered.
“Say minchia”, I told her point blank. “Minghia”, she said, “What does it mean?” added smiling.
“Something like your a aaaa. If you go to Sicily just say minchia, instead of a aaaa”. “Minghia”, she insisted. “Brava”. […] When a male Sicilian returns home, he opens the door, puts down his coppola if he has it, goes to the kitchen and asks his wife: “Hello dear, what is there to eat today?”, and she answers “Pasta ca sassa e cutuletta” “Pasta with tomato sauce and steak”, so here we are in the presence of “ro manciari rei cunnuti” (food for the betrayed husband). […] Frida, if she knew how to cook, would have had this menu for David Herbert Lawrence, her husband: “u cunnutu!” […] It was then, I won’t even tell you how, that I came to discover that the story of Lady Chatterley’s lover had taken place in Taormina!

Hey you! Are you a publisher or something else? Publisher? American? Perfect, perfectAnd tell me, American publisher, are you, by chance, searching for a new book that at the same time tells about science-fiction, the Roswell library, the Newton bynomial, the peantus stolen at Whole Food and other matters like that? Perfect, perfect… go here and urgently contact me

Chapter 12 Jazz town cartoon: my missing link One of my favorite places to run was the Chattahoochee River National Recreation Area, right near the Walton community. […] When I am in the island, with some foreigner on the shores of the Ionian Sea with the Italian coast opposite us it is inevitable that I’ll say: “Look, that’s Italy”, prompting the classic response “Why? Where are we?”
In Sicily, of course, my dear friend. […] But, by the way, what is jazz? […] Jazz is a way of living, more than a musical genre. It was in a blink of the eye from the clerk at Whole Foods, as much as a grim gaze in the suburban Atlanta. Jazz was in a drink, in a hot dog from The Varsity and in the black people with their Gospel songs. […] Jazz is probably the deepest thing I felt in Atlanta.

Chapter 13 LAL (Live Audio Life): the memoriesbuster Along the pages of this book I have often had an adventure companion: my little voice recorder. I called it in many different way: catchthoughts, grabmoments, memoriesbuster … […]Its work is to record LAL: Live Audio Life “I called them Live Audio Life, because they gave back a moment of immortalized life.” […] A LaL is positioned in one drawer of the cerebral hemisphere and I do not know in which drawer it is but it is always active.

Chapter 14 The world around the Roswell library “I mean, for example, I’m a person that eats anything and a lot even though I’m skinny and I never feel sick. See: I am a garbage disposal”. At that point he smiled.
“Back at home, there is not a single Sicilian who has a garbage disposal, not joking”.
He smiled again. […] I even became a supporting member of “Friends of the Roswell Library” with a membership card.
At the far right of the library there was a large window, where there were armchairs and newspapers. […] So, I activated the snatchmoments and made a Live Audio Life: “LAL, Anne Lee’s, Roswell. I’m at the back of the room … a lady brings her soup to her mouth … the curtains are romantic … I like being here There are 24 women and two men, one of which is me. […] When I returned to Sicily, at the fireplace, I tried to put it all together in my head, the library, Annie Lee, Julie Radford, Ford Smith, “the French” cafe and the wheel dog, all inside a castle with Harry Potter.
Perfect, they’re all just perfect.

Chapter 15 Leprechauns, Giufà and Barbie; but also the peanuts at Whole food and the cob at Mt Bethel Church The Americans embrace you, wrapping themselves around you and giving you a pat on the back, avoiding our attempt to double kiss the cheek.
Anyway, now I was on the balcony of the Walton stilt house and I did not have to kiss anybody. […] The book was about Fairy and folk tales of Ireland. Irish leprechauns are nicely voluptuous: you never know if they are angry or happy […]“I mean, do you think they know?”
“Yes. They make the best of a bad game…
“Oh mother what a gaffe…”said Silvana […] I had a boiled corn on the cob, the ubiquitous fried chicken […] Just outside I met some children, one of which was of Sicilian origins.
It’s really true: Sicilians are everywhere
I got into the car and immediately activated the catchmemories “Lal, Mt Bethel, October 18th. Hip-py day in the Church … curious … there was Barbie at 70, a spirited singer and a flower daughter with two eyes of ice and an earring in her teeth. Lunch in the park of the Church … it looked like Woodstock ” cutlet printed on her face.

Chapter 16 A Sicilian man Meeting with Severino Santiapichi, public prosecutor of the Moro trial and Ali Agca. Me: “Hi. What class are you?” “1926” […] Me: “To be a Sicilian, how much has it influenced your career?”. “We Sicilians are strongly ironic, in the way that we are not surprised. We accept diversity”. Me: “What is the sea for you?”. “At my house we guested a Belarussian child for years. He had never seen the sea. When I brought him to the beach he was amazed. I still remember his mouth wide open”, he smiled.

Chapter 17 The eerie stealing of the black note blocks, the Velvet Note, Brazil, Brazil, Bra-zil “Punta del Faro” is one of the three extremities of Sicily, my land, a triangular island in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea. […] “Did you notice the ceiling?” Taylor said to me. “It was designed by George Seldon, he hangs around with George Lucas, Star Wars, you know?” I was also very attracted by the paintings that had a common denominator: forests and forest paths. […] I took them out from one of the ten note blocks that I had nicked from the benches of ……. which Church I do not remember (maybe it’s better that I don’t remember Mt Bethel church!!!). Yes, just like that: I had stolen them. […] The conversation with Fernanda turned out to be lovely. She expressed her desire to sing for the rest of her life.

Chapter 18 A Sicilian woman “You see, I sat there and waited for you exactly where Al Pacino was when Apollonia arrived.” […] “I was in love with a soldier, but then …”. She did not finish the sentence. She took me to her house and showed me some pictures. We talked about many things and finally she gave me a t-shirt of the bar with the photo of Don Vito Corleone, of course.

Chapter 19 King Ducetius and Sequoya A huge dinosaur, tall enough to reach the ceiling, stood in the middle of the Fernbank museum’s hall. […] sat down and waited for someone on the other side. One guy sat down and operated the recorder: “Hey can you hear me?” “Sure”
“I’m from Sicily do you know Sicily?” “Sure” […] Palikè was the kingdom of the Siculi, the true native Sicilians according to many, who had a king named Ducetius around the10th century b. C. […] Palikè is to Sicily what the Chattahoochee forest is to Atlanta. And Ducetius is to the Sicilians, as Sequoja is to the Cherokees. […]”The songbird sounds like “back Ro bin hood”, while the vireo is “go ing up, go ing down”

Chapter 20 Booooo! The Varsity vs Panino ca miusa! LAL, “Saint Agata’s celebration, Catania 2013: the kids scream madly … the Saint is carried by shoulder […] I tried to figure out something like in Atlanta, at 244 di Washington street. Here, a Sicilian living outdoor, would be perfect […] Minchia, che olio!!! (Michia what a sort of oil) “Mi rassi da fedda I pane… fozza … ci mintemu ogghiu, pipi e sali … mangiamo tutti cosi …annunca m’affinnu” (Give me back the bread … come on .. we put on the oil, black pepper and salt … let’s eat, come on otherwise you offend me) […] The ironic owner had also put a series of written “Booooo” here and there and the mailbox was supported by a skeleton. […] Even though, The Varsity permitting, a complete tasting of Sicilian street food at the outdoor market in Palermo is a sort of very dangerous culinary mafia. […] One of the most beautiful photos we took portrays me with my wife having a sandwich wearing a The Varsity cap. […] “You can’t say both. Or you say buongiorno, good morning, or buonanotte, good night. […]The chinese korean was setlled

This orange window has been realized, after years of hard works, just for a publisher. An American publisher, to be precise, searching for a bestseller to edit. You can’t read it if you are not a publisher for in this orange box there is a magic potion that through your eyes will penetrate your body making you feel a publisher even if you are, for example, an undertaker. And that’s no good! No! So, if you are a publisher go here and urgently contact me

Chapter 21 A Jazz potluck (Johnny fangulo but I love you) In Sicily, when you meet someone with a nice round belly the joke is: “Ti piaci a pasta, veru?” “You like pasta, right?” Who knows what they say here in America?
Maybe, “You like The Varsity sandwiches, right?” […] … Corner Bakery opened.
Once again I was the first customer.
“Hy Italian, there is a present for you”, Mama Africa shouted to me. It was a yellow Halloween mug with the logo of the place. […] A few days later she invited me to her home where a potluck jazz would be held.
Corina lived in Cumming, 50 miles from my home […] There were large windows facing the garden that was full of instruments.
A guy played the piano and sang a bit with one person then with an other. There was a mixture of breeds, of odors, of everything. […] “That’s a jazz legend”, Corina told me. “It’s Johnny Knapp”. […] “My wife often said to me: Johnny fangulo but I love you”, that is “Johnny fuck off but I love you”.

Chapter 22 The sea Live Audio Life, Corner Bakery: “Today 11th of November 2015 I am at my Corner Bakery’s office … right now Mama Africa has arrived with a ram shackled car … .. I am wearing my two rings … ok I’m going … bye Giovanni”. […] There is a place in Sicily called Donnalucata. It’s a village crushed on the African sea, just off Scicli. […] “I took a midwife diploma in 1949! – said Ersilia – Last night I dreamt of a gentleman that came to call me and shouted “hurry up, we have to give birth to my son” […] LaL Atlanta, bathroom in my house: “Walton on the Chattahoochee … I feel god here … I don’t want to come back … I do not mean from the bathroom (laugh) … Atlanta, I feel good here … a beatle … a beatle in the pavement … I must cut my feet nails … over and out”

Chapter 23 Be careful, Giovanni: jazz makes you drunk! The rain fell without interruption, as the fog slipped through the shining rays of the street lamps. A man in black walked hurriedly, when suddenly he raised his coat collar, looked around, and turned the corner of the street. […] Keep calm Giovanni, I thought, it shouldn’t be dangerous. “I’m the cook,” he said in a hoarse, grim voice. Suddenly, she appeared! […] My name is Cole, Laura Coyle … she sighed. Be careful, Giovanni. Jazz makes you drunk! […]

Chapter 24 This happened on November 19th (we talk, among others, about Goodwill, JC, a parrot and leeches) Two months worth of the trappings of a writer and a chef were cramped in a room smaller than eighty square meters. […] On the other side of the room, overlooking the forest, was the balcony that had become so dear to me. On this balcony there was a table and a chair, and laying on it were pine cones from the forest ground that I sometimes threw toward the river below to amuse myself. […] I returned home in time for the inevitable “How ya doin” of J.C. that is like “parsley” as we would say in Sicily; he was everywhere. “The leeches were worms that Sicilian barbers kept in a jar. […] The story of the lady barber, here in Atlanta, who cut my hair as short as a Marine’s greatly pleased my barber.

Chapter 25 Zoe, Vendicari and the two guitarists “Haircut, a aaaaaa,” said Velicia with her beautiful face, black skin, a few extra pounds and orange hair. “Say minchia”, I said her “Minghia”, she replied, “What does it mean?” added . “It’s like your a aaaa …
“My what?” she stared confused at me […] I read the last chapter in my favorite place, at my office in the forest: a coffee table and chair, immersed in the forest of the residence, close to the Chattahoochee River. […] Hundreds of squirrels went up and down the trees as Zoe sighed for the affair of her beloved but never confessed love, Mr. Laverick […] Sam Dixon, Spivey Hall’s director, arrived after 5 minutes. … “Buongiorno e scusi il mio italiano non troppo buono, purtroppo”, (Good morning. I am sorry my Italian is not too good, unfortunately.) […] In silence, Sergio and Odair Assad came out […] The concert was a great success. Debussy’s Claire de Lune was the pinnacle of the performance, as is the central crater of Mount Etna.

Chapter 26 Driving Miss Foxxi (Maria and Salvatore) Atlanta, Atlanta … what a great place my dear Sicilians! And so it was that one day I sat on the usual bench along the Chattahoochee River and saw a charm-ing lady in her forties pass by […] So, Miss Maria Fox arrives in Sicily and as a good American she doesn’t rent a car but takes a chauffeur. […] “Minchia” Cchi bedda fimmina! ” (What a nice woman”). And so began the story between Miss Fox and Salvatore Quattropalme known as “Turi u cu-nigghiu” (Turi the rabbit) due to the fact that her grandfather, the real rabbit, had made her grand-mother pregnant 14 times. […] “Ha ha… Salvatore you always make me laugh. Listen, Salvatori, I’m hungry, let’s have a break at some restaurant”
“Miss Foxi, if you don’t mind, I live nearby and I can call my mom who cooks a little something on the fly” […] Today, Salvatore and Maria form a beautiful couple who lives in Atlanta
They have 7 beautiful children and … “Minchia, Salvatori, I’m pregnant again!”

Chapter 27 Volare, ohhh, ohhhhhh “LaL Mt Bethel, 22 November 2015. Damn, I know that you should not but today I stole a black book from the church to take notes. Good morning (I greet someone who greets me but I do not know who it is)…” […] I had a chat with the girl trying to explain our Sicilian granita. “It’s something similar to the smoothie but it has nothing to do with it at the same time and…. so on and so on.” The girl nodded but it was obvious that she did not really understand my explanation. […] Mr. Jonathan Howard, the bassist of the King’s Singers, a monument of the music scene more or less classical, a cappella for accuracy was waiting for me […] During the break I took the opportunity, in the foyer, to intone Volare to the first per-son that I met.

Chapter 28 Thousand of birds, Rivablue and the Medusa with 3 legs “What are we eating today?” Silvana asked me just before leaving. All the Sicilians ask themselves this question in the morning. […] The flight of hawks and other birds, on the Peloritani Mountains, always reminds me of the power of nature, the beauty of creation[…] …music makes you migrate.
WCLK was my favorite migration route here in Atlanta. […] As soon as Rivablue saw me she exclaimed worriedly: “No…No…let me fix…a moment please…now we can take a picture.” “You look fine,” Marquis tried to reassure her. […] Another crazy emotion during this trip. Let’s open all the cages.

Chapter 29 What happened at the Northside Tower, 6065 Roswell Road, NE, Sandy Springs and the man with the space helmet. “LAL, Restroom in Atlanta, November 23, 2015. I have a few seconds to say that in Atlanta the office bathrooms are the most logical place to go if you have to take a leak This is like a living room, other than a bathroom. Over and out.” From that day on I found the solution to these unexpected setbacks. […] I parked my car just as John’s car door opened. John came out; he was a clone of this car, bleached blonde, 60, no 70, dreamy, far fetched…oh I don’t know! He was accompanied by a small dog and even the dog was unearthly, I never seen any-thing like that: tiny, fearful, with two ears seized from god knows which planet, per-haps by Neptune, just like Spock. […] “Italian Public Network? Why not?” But that encouraging “Why not?” […] Oh John, you old galactic rascal! “Sit down and I will make you fly,” he said. […] For our picture he chooses to put on a space helmet gifted to him by the American Air Force.

Chapter 30 Thanksgiving Day in Sicilian style Interviewing Sicilians… “Madam, how did you go to bed on your wedding night?” Just like that, I asked her with a decisive tone and a serious face. The lady, as if she had not heard me, an-swered: “That night I had a beautiful lace dress…” “Madam, I do not care about your lace dress. Now focus and answer. When you went to bed, the first night, were you naked?” “Noooooooo! What are you say-ing?!!!” […] And since a Sicilian is always a Sicilian, Serafina and Rosario, at Ball Ground about 10,000 kilometers away from the original Trapani in Sicily from where they had emigrated with their families over 50 years ago, had prepared a sort of Noah’s Ark of Food where all the world’s dishes had to be preserved before the great hunger.[…] Rosario showed me the photos of her family scattered here and there around the house “My son Antony is a photocopy of Marlon Brando.” He did not convince me… […] “Here…eat this pizza Rosario made.” […] “Seven years ago I went back to Palermo and I stuffed myself with street food: stigghiola, pane ca’meusa and panelle…then I had a nice ice cream in Mondello… that beautiful Sicilian mangiata,” said Serafina. […]“Sti picciriddi Americani ci mentono i caramella…iu ci mittissi ddu beddi caddozzi i sasizza.” (These American children put candy on the fire…I would put two knots of sausage). It is true: some things are not forgotten.

Chapter 31 Sweet mistakes and the lucky bastard I could tell you a sea of adventures between me and Etna, but this would be anoth-er book. When, a few years ago, my book Guide to Etna was rewarded at the Gambrinus, the famous Italian ethologist Danilo Mainardi, shaking my hand, told me he was deeply impressed with my introductory dedication.
“So I suppose you rewarded me for the preface?” I said jokingly. “Isn’t it enough?” replied the famous ethologist. […] “LAL, Decatur, 27th November 2015…I’m about to enter the library where Ellis
Paul is waiting for me…this is a beautiful square…romantic, it seems to be in a vil-lage in the Alps…children on bicycles, beautiful flower beds, some tables outside the bars….” […] “I love pasta” he said almost as a ventriloquist while the fan kept shooting pictures. I have a beautiful Ellis dedication in my interview note-book: “Giovanni! It’s great to meet you and discuss the universe. […] I returned to Walton on the Chattahoochee at about 6 pm. Silvana was at the gym with Letizia and I decided to go to work for a bit at the cafe. ”Surprisingly, a male voice shattered my picture: “What do you think of this?” It was that “lucky bas-tard” Hamid, the one who won the green card, creating the logo for his Café Ven-dome.

This book is looking for an American publisher. So, if you are a New Zealander, a Chinese, an Italian or even a Russian with African mother, you are not good for me. What I need is a genuine American publisher, even if not a good chess player. If you meet these latter requirements please go here and urgently contact me

Chapter 32 Tanino and Star Wars Then, nature called! Maybe it was the milk…I do not know. This time, a building at 6285 Barfield Road was heaven sent. Great bathroom, highly recommended. […] Tanino is one of my many friends of the Sicilian inland I encountered along my eternal journey into the deepest of Sicily, among the sweet hills of green wheat, mules, cows and sheep, and the dark skinned Sicilian, tanned by the sun that has little desire to joke. […] The first time I met him was when I had found out about an ancient Greek city which flourished on his land, and I was curious to go and see these traces. “Careful, he is touchy,” they warned me in tow […] Atlanta Symphony Orchestra: the hero of the day, the Tanino of the sky, is Luke Skywalker! […] “You must be K.C. I also have a friend named J.C. Are you by chance relatives?” I answered smiling. “This is your pass,” K.C told me. “My great grandmother was from Palermo,” she said laughing. […]“Music for me is a way of expressing yourself in a way that words cannot express,” he said. In Philadelphia, Krajewsky is a living myth being the director of the famous Philly Pops. […] I passed by the nearby Buckhead and bought my shopping for dinner at the usual Whole Food. Then I got into the car along the Paces Ferry Road that was slowly immersed in the forest. The skyscrapers became tall trees… A crazy route! This Atlanta was unforgettable for me.

Chapter 33 An evening for the ugly, the dirty and the bad guys In front of me sat, once again, the strange girl with black gloves, scarf and hat. […] If you come to Sicily, one of the most picturesque places to visit is the open air market. […] Pane e panelle, caldume, arancini pani ca meusa stigghiola… […]It’s a place for ugly, dirty and bad but that has its own elegance.[…]It was the 28th of November 2015 … Eddie’s Attic would have turned out to be my Ballarò market […] “What about jazz music?” I asked . “Sorry, what did you say?” he replied. “What about jazz music…jazzzzz…jaazzzz.” “Ahhhh…jaaaaazzzzzzz music!” The same thing happens for Eddie’s Attic. “Hi, please … Eddie’s Attic.” I asked. “What?” he replied. “Edd’s Attic…Edddddiiis Atc…Eds Atiiic…” “Ahhh, Eddie’s Attic!” […] Blind Boys of Alabama are a pillar of gospel in America; they are blind and come from Alabama. […] Two of them had beautiful rings on their fingers. […] We saluted affectionately, in the sense that I kissed them …“He’s Italian,” as if to say, “he’s not queer.”

Chapter 34 La fuitina That morning I went downtown and visited the Rialto center where there was a colorful pictorial exhibition of artists of Guanajuato, Indians in the land of Indians. […] In Sicily, until about the 1950’s, it was customary to steal a daughter from her parents … This event was called: a fuiuta35, a Sicilian word that translated into Italian would be to elope. […] One day Paolina told me: “Come to my house.” So when I arrived, she said, “Look, he wants to run away.” I did not know anything about sex, not even how children were born. […] Mr. Monforte, countryside of Novara di Sicilia: “I met my wife in the village, right? We were neighbors, understood? In those days women were seen rarely. And how did I approach her, you ask? There have always been escapers. When a woman wants all is possible. […] Mrs. X, inlands: “I was out walking in the village one evening with my mother and four men kidnapped me and put me in a car. […] It was the 1st of December. So Welcome December! My set list included an Irish night so we went to Stevie’s.

Chapter 35 The Duke Avarna, the Beautiful Betty and Fox It was a beautiful December day in both Atlanta and Sicily.That morning while I was running alongside the Chattahoochee, a woman shoutedto warn me “Snake!” […] Gualtieri Sicaminò is a village lost deep down in the valleys of Messina… Here lived the Duke Avarna, the Duke of the Bells. […]…a bell that he rang every time he made love with the beautiful stewardess. […] I arrived at the Fox Theater at the fifteenth hour, twenty minutes and eleven seconds, on a normal day, December third, and at about eight thousand six hundred thirty one kilometers from Gualtieri Sicaminò. […]“I am Betty, Shelly is waiting is for you.” “You’re nice Betty,” I said. “Ohhh, thank you,” she said turning her head a little and adjusting her hair. […] “And tell me Betty…have you been here a long time?”
“Ohhh yes, I’m a singer too.” “How nice, and what do you sing? gospel?” “Everything.”
“I’m recording everything you’re saying,” I said. “You are…” “Recording.” “It’s not true.” “Yes, it’s true.” “You are not” “I am yes” “No.” “Yes.” “Ooohhh my God!” she said as she adjusted her hair again… […] Allan introduced me to the soul of the theater. The Fox Theater is a beautiful place where time seems to have stopped. […] …Betty came to me and put a piece of paper in my pocket. “Read it when you’re at home,” she whispered.

Chapter 36 A fun and loving day with my wife walking around Atlanta with nothing to expect … the Ethiopian American, following her usual behavior, approached Silvana and whispered “Minghia! Beautiful scarf, it goes well with the color of your eyes.” Silvana literally amazed! […]We left Publix and on the left we took the New Northside Dr. NW, a road designed by some wizard or gnome of northern Europe, Irish or perhaps Norwegian. […]Santa Claus, our Father Christmas, had passed by here with all his band of little helpers. It seemed as if we were in a huge Christmas toy shop where the houses were nativity scenes, the trees were Christmas trees, and the cars were Santa Claus’s toy trains.[…]“Do you remember when you decorated the Christmas tree with the Greek and Roman frame weights?” I reminded Silvana.[…]Then it was Gino Pizza’s, on the same left side. “We must to go there,” we said in chorus. […]A little further on we stopped for a smoothie at an intersection in front of Hobnob at 1551 Piedmont Ave. The girl was very nice and greeted us with the umpteenth Ciao.[…]“LAL Piedmont Park: 6 December 2015, Piedmont Park, there are people running, people on bicycles, dogs walking with their owners, and on the left they play tennis[…] This happened on December 6th of that year.

Chapter 37 phiLOISophy: please, come in! …and met Rojo, the Mexican who worked at the cafe. “I’m waiting for you to interview me,” she reminded me. I don’t remember why I promised it, but I reassured her that as soon as possible a microphone would be attached to her chest. […] I own several radios, arranged in a row, scattered around my study, and occasionally when I switch one on, it broadcasts incomprehensible stories in Arabic, because in Sicily towards the evening, as if they were vampires, the medium waves are invaded by the North African networks. […]It was with this spirit that one day I went to visit WABE, a pillar of radio television communication in America. […] “Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch” said the man […]That’s when the Lois Reitzer broadcast starts.[…]Then we entered the room to do the interview. “It’s a wonderful thing to know that people from all around the world can hear you!” Lois said.[…]The song was titled “phiLOISophy: please come in!” It was a very danceable, beautiful, cool piece.

Chapter 38 Theocritus and H. Johnson: when Nature sings. Sicilian shepherds are the fifth essence of wisdom. […] …Theocritus, a Syracusan of the 3rd century BC. In Theocritus’s poem […] the shepherds are learned men and sing of nature in verse.[…] Personally, that was the case, with H. Johnson. H. is a loving, quite tall American black man with a funny colored hat that softens his features even more, turning his face into a river of serenity. […] “Gì o va nni, what a beautiful name you have,” he said. […]Our dialogue was a kind of Greek banquet, slow and tasty, music as game, without any clamor or intellectual overthrows on both sides.[…] “Music for me is a psychological relief. When I feel a bit down I put a disk on and enter into its world.”[…] As they took a photo of us during the final break, embracing me with his long arms, he said to me: “Pasta! I love pasta!”

Chapter 39 The “Pupari” of Atlanta It was the 8th of December, 2015 and Etna, the volcano near where I live, had made one of his spectacular eruptions on the previous day. I had learned from the front page of USA Today that usually was provided from Corner Cafe to the customers: Mount Etna still angry! the title said. It was a crazy feeling! “Look Mama Africa, I live right here,” I told her, pointing to the newspaper […] It was Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker and the company was at Marietta Blvd NW. […] A few years later, I discovered that there was someone that worked in the company called Sicily![…] At the Atlanta Radio Theater Company everybody was waiting for me all in a circle in a half empty room where there was only an empty chair for me. “Meet the Ladies and the Gentlemen of the company,” said the gentleman David Benedict. […] “All that is scary and spooky is very radiophonic. For Halloween we do a lot of shows,” said Gentleman Rob.[…] Lady Kelley picked up a stalk of celery, approached the microphone and broke it. “And now let’s stab him,” said the mad Gentleman William. And so saying, he took a melon and splattered it on the table!

Chapter 40 Are Sicilians everywhere? Walking in the heart of the town I could not once again notice that a square was missing. In Sicily, the square is a sacred place, where everyone goes even if only for a walk. […] “Yes, I’ve decided my Sicilian along the Chattahoochee will have a coppola with an Indian feather as a symbol,” I thought. […] In Atlanta I met Elizabeth, about thirty years old, who showed up with Joanna, her mother. We met at Tavernpointe, along Peachtree Street.[…]“My grandmother comes from Cianciana”, Joanna said opening a true book of a lifetime: “The Mulè family, for the next generation.” […] “Repeat after me, here at the microphone, for all Italians who will listen to you, Ciao bella Sicilia.” “Ciao bella Cicilia.” “Ti vengo a trovare.” “Te vengo a trovare.” “L’anno prossimo.” “L’agno prossimo.” […] “LAL, Balcony Walton: December 9th 2015, Atlanta. It’s the last American evening. We emptied the apartment and only the bed remains.

Chapter 41 Atlanta-Philadelphia-Rome-Sicily The morning of the departure I behaved as if it were one of the many usual days. I arrived at the usual time, 7 am, at Corner Bakery and took the usual double espresso. […]Everything was jumbling in my head: plane, squirrels, skyscrapers, Publix and still the bloody plane.[…]At the airport, as a soundtrack of my goodbye, there was a violinist, Brazilian I think, in a tight skin miniskirt, with thick, black bushy hair.[…] We took the plane to Philadelphia… led us from Philadelphia to Rome. Then the plane that took us from Rome over the central crater of Etna, full of snow and the blue, blue sea, was just at its feet, at the feet of Majesty Etna. Sicily.[…]”Here we are, home,” Silvana said looking through the porthole.

Are you a benefactor of Atlantan chipmunks, of Sicilian cannoli, of the peanuts at Whole Food, of the panino ca miusa etc etc and, above all, would you like to support a new book that tells the adventures of a Siciliano in Atlanta? Perfect, perfect! Please go here and urgently contact me