Lessons on a postcard

Kill your parents. Bury them deep.
Eat and sleep amongst your own kind, but make daily forays into enemy territory. Travel light.
Only use materials at hand. Learn to knot and splice.
Establish regular dietary habits, use illness as a metaphor if you have to.
Disassemble a complex piece of machinery and put it back together so it looks like new but doesn't work.
Keep a secret from yourself.
Disregard the advice of people wearing uniforms. Any kind of uniform.
Be an animal. Sniff before licking.
If you find something in the gutter, call it your own.
Using a post hole digger, make a hole the length of your arm in your front lawn so everyone can see. Shove your naked arm into the hole and let it rest in there for a while. Let the worms and beetles wriggle around your wrist. Feel whatever you feel without showing fear.
Keep a leather pouch filled with small bones, buttons, and cut glass under your shirt. This, instead of credit cards.
Learn to read the sky.
Record your accounts in hand-written symbols kept in an old-fashioned ledger book.
Only speak when spoken to. Wear earplugs and use sanitary wipes.
Plan ahead then do something else.
Don't look back, ever. Avoid cemeteries and mausoleums.
Reproduce anonymously.
Keep the inside of your body clean. Defecate frequently.
Don't worry if you hear voices -- transcribe what they say. You will want to refer to these notes later on.
Love your neighbor as yourself, but don't ever trust him.
Physical activity is bunk, content yourself with the indolence of the armchair and ottoman.
Allow ghosts into your sitting room, even if they're only products of your imagination.
Don't be thrown by the faith of others, don't be conned by charlatans.
Don't try to bring back the dead.
Set sail alone.