So , it’s very difficult for me to transform from marty the psychic to marian t. zinicola. since i began police work and doing candid readings for people, many many years ago i never revealed my true name to many people at all. even close friends called me Marty.   I didn’t want people to know who my children were or where my grandchildren lived, etc. etc. etc…… this worked out well for many years until i wrote my book, Soul Bonding with Marty the Psychic….all hell has broken out so to speak…Since i have clients in all parts of the world, in many states who know me as marty the psychic no knowledge of my name  they can’t find my book on amazon , barnes and noble or apple, the author looks foreign to them, marian zinicola ?????                                                                                                                                                                                                   SOO THE AUTHOR OF MARTY THE PSYCHIC IS INFACT MARIAN ZINICOLA !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


sooo….here i am on my front porch contemplating my next project. Trying to do some writing for my up-coming book , a travel book. I truly feel bad for my husband at times, we’re away , for instance leaving Assisi, Italia’ and i need the ladies room. Did I know the woman in the stall next to me had a deceased  Aunt who wanted to give her a crucial message regarding a mysterious disappearance of a family member????  So I held up our tour bus for 15 minutes…..thank goodness incidents had already taken place on the bus with deceased relatives so they all watched the whole process come to a close….and actually clapped and  cheered at the end ?!?!  Needless to say our driver wanted me banned from utilizing rest stop ladies’ rooms.          As I’m this a film maker friend, Steven Cogle,  phones me that he was hospitalized yesterday, almost had a stroke….that’s why I couldn’t locate him to bid farewells, at a rooftop party in Bushwick,  Brooklyn where I watched my son, Mario  aka Kwue Molly, paint a wall. He was rushed to the hospital on the downstairs level while we were listening to great music and watching artists do their thing..never heard the ambulance….so his deceased Aunt Anna interrupts the call to tell me to let him know she prevented a full blown stroke yesterday  along with many validations to let him know it was truly her…messages to his Mom also telling me that’s how she’s related, his Mom’s sister,etc.etc.etc.     Another quiet Sunday on the porch……

Message from the Medium

The first memories of actually receiving messages from the dead happened approximately a week after losing my brother Georgie.  Unbeknownst to me, I was having dreams, or so I thought they were, of dead relatives of my parents who died years prior to my brother’s death. They would be what is referred to as “visitations.  These visits occur during your sleep, usually they’re messages of love and recognition or serve as dire warnings from the deceased.

At that time, I had no clue who was coming to me. But in later years, my mom, my aunt or my nonna validated who these people were. As a child, they all totally understood what was happening to me since my nonna and her two sisters were either healers or mediums. What I do remember, was my mom crying but also feeling relief upon hearing who my brother was with in these dreams. The dreams presented vital information, etc. to validate their identities.

When I was about 11 years old, I started to experience strong premonitions. I had been a school-phobic after my brother’s passing. I attended a Catholic grammar school and would either play sick in the morning or wait until I was in class to be sent to the nurse and then sent back home. My sister and mom just about had it with me and my antics. I would read the Cheerios box at the breakfast table and insist that I had to finish before I could proceed to get dressed for school. I was my poor big sister’s worst nightmare since she had to walk me to school. She was really into school and her friends and a walk that should haven taken 20 minutes took an hour or so.

So, I woke up one bright morning truly petrified that I shouldn’t go into school since I was sure the building was going to go up in flames killing me, other children and nuns.  I was literally sobbing as they brought me there unwillingly. The next morning the feeling was much more intense and I was close to hysteria in fact I was so sick over it that I was later sent home from school. After school, my sister, my parents and I were at the kitchen table with the radio on when they interrupted the song with a news flash. “A catholic parochial school in Chicago had “gone up in flames” killing 92 children and 3 nuns.  It was Our Lady of the Angels grammar school in 1958 just prior to Christmas. When I tell you, no one at the table muttered one word.  I felt utter fear and disbelief at the time as to how I could have known this would happen. I was only 11 years old.