Two liquid cities side by side, bridges that seem to lead to one other. Platforms collide, in the space between a chick, but not the one from Palermo. The Venice Biennale curates collateral urban theatres that could not be more glitzy. Indexing the leverage class, who feed from the indices of financialised circulation, a cosmonautic vessel rests confidently. As it holds court in the ancient principality of seafaring, only its sensors and antennas convey a sense of invisible activity, the inconspicuous trace of twenty-four-seven real time positioning on its universal map. Even when harboured, it navigates continents and seas, islands and rivers of data streams. The monolithic cruise ships that pass by, also towering far over the rafters of Venice, are ridiculed by this contemporary apparition of the Midas touch. Steel turns stealth, though, when you walk by, mirroring the old city and those ambulating its foundations. The urban platform has its strictly private enclaves that rarely appear in full site, were it not for a fleeting visit to the most contemporary of leveraged capitalisations. A solidly frozen tsunami, the ship, if we can even call it that, reaches into the fabric of our noisy world, and at the same time looms heavily over the populace. The digitised curtain draws not only over the city. The entire gulf of Venice is way too small for the expansion covered by the phantom visitation.