When you go outside, bring the inside with you—a book, a magazine, a mobile phone—until the sky becomes the lid on a petri dish.
Let the Rapture play out in reverse: let everything you own ascend to a heaven of pure abstraction, leaving you only your solid bodies and the close proximity in which you find yourselves.
Alternatively, give all you have to the rich, who will know what to do with it so much better than you do.
It’s essential to be as poor as possible.
Surrender your personal space but not your personal agendas. You’re going for chaos, not collective action.
Avoid engagement with the natural world, to the extent that it persists in flaunting its pollen and its noisy card-shuffles of wings.
Pullulate. Flocculate. Agglomerate.
Whenever someone from another world appears among you, searching for proofs of his superiority, be sure to swarm in your best Brownian motion.