Venice. I'm still in your spell. Nowhere else on earth feels so much like home for a person accustomed to the sixteenth through nineteenth centuries. For one such as I, the city is truly divine. I come alive there. Motoring down the Grand Canal I can almost hear Lord Byron bullshitting bimbo peeresses. Maybe it's because I'm a Pisces, man, but all that rocking and splashing and sploshing activates me through a negative-ion suntan. The water in Venus shakes you and stirs you. And I dig the seafood, the weird lunar crayfish in the antipasti. Sardines as burger. Venus, you rule here. Death in Venice is great, but getting it on with aquatic urbanity is even better.

I went to Venice on Monday afternoon, and I had to be back for Friday morning. My friend Joseph Kosuth was opening his extraordinary 750-meter outdoor neon installation "The Language of Equilibrium" on the Island of San Lazzaro degli Armeni. Here's how it looked to approach this island, where a community of Armenian priests live in a beautiful monastery. Venice was in the grip of the Biennale, filled with the international citizenry of the art world. Usually the city is occupied by tourists and groups of youngsters and oldsters in sandals and multipocketed hunting vests, looking very out of place. But when the art world arrives they look like they own the place, landing on the quays from smart motorboats in suits and ties and evening dresses and high heels.

Here are a few more views of Kosuth's work, executed in Armenian, Italian, and English.

Kosuth's opening was followed by dinner for 300, featuring the extraordinary conceptual cuisine of chef Corrado Fasolato of the Hotel Metropole. He created a menu reflecting the Armenian tradition of the Fathers who inhabit the monastery where Kosuth's work is installed, the concepts of equilibrium as enunciated by the artist, and the best available ingredients. It was amazing. The dinner was followed by dancing all night for whoever could get to the ancient fortress of Sant'Andrea on the island of Vignole, where Napoleon suffered his great naval defeat and where the legendary Casanova was held captive in 1743.

No expense was spared for the artist's pal il Grande Glenn, who DJed an all night rave-up that kept dancers up for the downstroke for more than six straight uninterrupted or relieved hours. I mean, at times some people sat down, as when I screamed out without a microphone, "This is a ladies' choice, a slow one," and played "Be Thankful for What You've Got" by William DeVaughn. In fact, I played that one twice, once around 2:00, and then again around last-dance time, when the sun was up.

Here is DJ Style Guy en route to the gig in his nautical limo:

And here is maestro Kosuth:

I wished that I could stay and see more of the Biennale, but I had to get back to New York to handle emergency questions from my readers about what color socks to wear, unfortunately missing Richard Prince's naughty nurse exhibition on behalf of his country of birth, Panama.

A shame I had to run because the next day, making a connection in Paris, I had my worst experience ever with "random searches" at Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris, where security seized my antibiotic cream, prescription chapstick, and a room deodorizer, while patting me down like a jihadist. Maybe it's time to shave, but as any regular traveler knows, the world has gone mad.

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