"Sorting Piece"
44 performers enter United Airlines Flight 93 and travel until consumed.  
One performer sorts through their baggage and sends each of them to the correct destination.  

"Sorting Piece #2"
Process meat coming off of a refrigerated truck while labeling.  Process your emotions.  
Eventually, stop processing.
Keep labeling.

"Witness"
Let someone who you have great respect for dress you, turning your passé everyday-wear into a fierce statement.  Record a video justifying your new look to the haters.  Wear your new look out in public, where there are lots of people who can see.  Make a loud noise and turn heads.

"Rooster Mentality"
Open the door of your henhouse and let all the fowl out.  Let them wander away and shit all around your neighbors' yard while they are gone until there's huge amounts of birdshit covering everything.  They'll come back eventually.
  
"The Hole of the Law"
At 8:43 AM on September 11th, 2001, one performer enters the men's bathroom on the 92nd floor of the North Tower of the World Trade Center, occupies a stall, then pulls their pants down and inserts their penis through a small hole in the side of the stall.  Another performer enters the same bathroom no more than two minutes later, takes up a position in the neighboring stall and begins to give fellatio.  A third performer, watching from an unseen position, cums before either of them.  

"Pyramid Piece"
Create a pyramid using humans, like you're an Egyptian pharaoh or a bob-wearing cheer squad coordinator, even if you're neither of those things.  Listen as a time-bomb audibly ceases ticking.

"Endless Staircase Piece"
Dress in layers until you're sweating.  When you're warm, climb up several flights of stairs until you get warmer.  After you're soaked, keep going until it's hard to breathe and your vision is clouded.  Stop breathing.  Keep moving until you can make out clouds, flames, or both.

“Not Even Muad'Dib”
A pencil, a pen, some paper, a domicile in a suburb of Paris, and several hours of time are required for this piece.  The performer draws quietly until they have to attend to some commitment and avoids depicting any prophet.  

"Piece"
Enter a place where there are people living and draw your weapon.  If it's an M4 Carbine, depress the trigger until everyone stops moving (and not just the men).  If it's a gladius, plunge it through barbarians until lamentations lull you to sleep (the women, and the children).  If it's a lightsaber, whirl it around your body until enemies' limbs are as detached as your current mental state, then stop imagining Empires and return to building nations. 
 
“Divided 93”
Dive from a high place while the contents inside of you shift and become somewhat weightless.  Hit the ground nose-first and experience an impulse as you fragment.  Is it:
(a) The powerful need to make an impact.
(b) A shuddering, like turbulence during a storm.
(c) Mass * Change in Velocity.
Scatter yourself across miles.  When your shards are partially reconstituted in official documents, posts on message boards with expired vBulletin licenses, and birds nests, give those reconstructing you what they want. 
Be quiet as your pieces are collected and buried ceremoniously near the spot where you landed.
While experiencing the personification provided to you—a fucking broken airplane—by this brief performance, use your fleeting sentience to consider the value of the arts.  I’ll wait.  

“Moment of Silence”
Convene a group of performers to sit in a windowless room that has a landline telephone, a single vent, a conspicuously placed surveillance camera, and a door that can be locked from the outside.  The door should be locked once everyone is inside.  All performers must be scientists—whatever that means currently—with different specialized disciplines.  Performers should deliberate about the length of “a moment.”  After one hour, another performer who is not a scientist dials the number for the telephone and asks whoever answers it if they and their colleagues have established a definition for “a moment.”  If they have, release them.  If they have not, or if the non-scientist performer cannot understand the definition they have come up with, the non-scientist performer should laugh maniacally, hang up the phone, and proceed to release a lethal poisonous gas through the vent while watching the feed from the camera.  When there is no more movement in the room, the non-scientist performer should—without using a time keeping device—approximate the amount of time it took for all the scientists to die (“about 7 seconds”, “about a minute”).  They should then turn the camera off, bow their head, and observe a moment of silence for the victims of the September 11th attacks, using the time they approximated as a rough guideline for its length.