Gestures
Choose an event that happens every day, a routine action. Write out the gestures it takes to do that action in order and in very fine-grained detail. Write a scene using only those gestures in that order which does not include any reference to the original action. Repeat for all possible new actions which fit the gestures of the original
The resultant texts will produce a body of work which contains all possible actions which are formally adjacent to your chosen action bringing disparate situations into confluence with each other. 

An Example: Getting on the bus 
The chosen action will be getting on the bus. The bounds of this action will be from when the bus doors open, to when you turn to walk down the bus length. It will not include taking a seat or finding a place to stand
The gestures:
Raise right leg. Lower right leg and push on the ground ahead. Shift weight onto right leg. Raise left leg. Lower left leg beside right leg. Raise right arm with palm open towards hip until fingers align with hip. Lower right arm down thigh. Push finger tips toward thigh. Raise right arm while still pushing on thigh with finger tips. Move right index finger left, then down then right. Clamp the bottom of middle finger and top of index finger of right hand together. Move right arm up and forward, bending at the elbow. Clamp right thumb against other fingers while other fingers remain as they were. Turn head down towards feet. Slide right foot forward. Slide left foot forward. Bend at the right elbow so that the right hand moves to align with the stomach. Rotate right arm outward to the right. Raise right leg slightly and move it across the body to the left. Rotate your entire body 90 degrees to follow. Rotate right arm to align right hand with right thigh. Slide right hand down right thigh. Relax hand and rel
ease all fingers from their tensed, clamping position. Raise right arm up thigh. Relax arm by right side. Raise right leg. Lower right leg. Raise left leg. Lower left leg. 

Getting on the Bus -- Displacements:
1
The doctor asks you to step up on the scale in order to take your weight and height measure. You tentatively step up on the scale, while scratching your right thigh slightly. At that point, zoned out, lost in thought, you lose balance and reach your arm out to brace yourself against the wall. Once your balance is regained, the doctor takes your weight. You then turn 90 degrees so that your height may be checked. You scratch your right leg again, a strange recurring itch. After the doctor measures your height with a metre stick, you step off the scale. 

2
You have just won the bronze medal. The crowd cheers as you mount the podium with your fellow top placers. Snow falls slightly. You dig your gloved right hand into your pocket, lodging the glove within. As the band plays a rousing tune, you briefly hold hands with the gold medalist beside you for the photo op. You spot your arch-nemeses in the crowd aghast at the possibility of a rookie like you even making it to third place in the freestyle skiing competition. They wear matching neon snow suits and scowl in your general direction. You turn 90 degrees to the left, and step off the podium as your entire home town claps, tears welling up in their eyes. 

3
Ishme-Lim is standing behind a rise in the city wall at E. The wall is partially finished, and it is his time to labour on this enormous construction project, his months of service to The King: King of Kish, King of the Four Quarters, and so on. The king keeps heaping titles upon himself and his panoply of ministers. Ignoramuses are numerous in the palace, as they say. Frustratingly, this has been demonstrated as painfully true: the appointed foreman has made a mistake in calculating the dimensions of this section of the wall. Ishme-Lim steps up on a pile of mudbricks recently delivered thinking of their earlier altercation over this mistake. Those who get excited should not become foremen, as Ishme-Lim's father used to say. Ishme-Lim scratches his leg, then braces his right arm against a section of completed wall, looking over the parapet. A cloud of dust is visible in the distance. Is it arriving or leaving or neither?

4
8:59 AM. Your co-workers stream down the hall. They each step up onto the platform and punch in on the machine appended to the wall, then they turn left to follow the person ahead. It is your turn. You fish in your pocket, thinking you forgot something, but are relieved to discover that everything is present. You remove your hand and bang the clock when your turn arrives. You then turn left into the fluorescent light void of the ensuing hallway. Your shoes click against the polished concrete floor. 

5
The storage facility is top secret. Its location and contents are held under such a layer of secrecy that only two people know entirely what is contained within. The staff are ferried to the site in a windowless ferry. 
It is an archive. The lights are off at all hours requiring any visitors, of which there have only ever been two, to utilize high-powered LED headlamps. A white-coated figure reaches the 12[th] door of building A. It is solid steel with "A12" emblazoned on its surface in white paint. This third-ever visitor climbs the single step which is the door's threshold. She nods at the two guards who acknowledge the official coat badge and removes a key card. The incessant buzz of almost-blown lights is fractured by the card reader's bleep. The white-coated researcher turns left towards the door as shadows fall. The left guard's teeth grind. 

6
A grey void. A figure appears at (0,0). All limbs are stiff, two arms are held out and knees are locked. Stare? Straight ahead. No facial expression. Ragdoll. The figure takes on a casual pose. The figure's right leg flails upward, knee glitching through the stomach. The falls back down. The right arm has now glitched through the thigh. Again. The arm flails outward. The figure turns left as a single unit. 
We gotta fix the collision detection. 

7
The universe. In the universe a planet, on the planet, a geographical region, in the geographical region a metropolis, in the metropolis an urban neighbourhood, in the urban neighbourhood a block, on the block a building, in the building a water closet, in the water closet a piece of paper, on the piece of paper a list, in the list a checkbox. A footstep. In the checkbox a pen, in the pen ink. On the page, now, a checkmark.
The toilet had been cleaned today.

8
Mr Anglethorpe, angrily approaches the glass front of a display case, remembering all of the time spent polishing and re-polishing the glass with his team of professionals, specialized buffing equipment, antistatic gloves, full-body anti-contamination suits and negative ion appendages. There were always fingerprints and they seemed to multiply daily until the glass was but a mass of them. Finally, Mr Anglethorpe, in discussions with the staff, the staff's staff and the staff's staff's staff agreed that steps must be taken. The big guns were out now! Mr Anglethorpe digs into his pocket and removes a thin sheet on which was a custom printed sticker. He pushes the sticker firmly against the pristine glass and glares smugly. 
The sticker, in enormous bold letters, says: "DO NOT TOUCH!" The exclamation mark is a nice touch.
"That should hold `em off," Mutters Mr Anglethorpe to no one in particular. The grubby-hand-havers must be quaking in terror.

9
The wall began to glow. The Captain reached into the space suit's utility belt to retrieve a multi-spatial scanner. She was surprised to find any trace of settlement on such a harsh planet. Plasma storms usually precluded any sort of permanent occupation, except by the incorporeal Plasma Dwellers who have so far refused diplomatic ties with "solids," though have remained peaceful. The Captain really didn't want a confrontation with the Plasma Dwellers now. The wall continued to glow, the colour began to change, an ever-changing pattern emerged of complex symbols. The captain replaced the multi-spatial scanner in her utility belt, turned left and continued down the wall. 
Then.
Blip.