In the city center-devoid, suburban archipelago of the US, there exists scant real estate where an immersion in the mass (for either constructive purpose or odious design) can take place and private rage can be vented as civil disobedience, or rise, in its demented shadow form, as the public psychosis of fascist pageantry.
Although, in the US, our variety of Nuremberg Rally mobs don't throng down wide boulevards, in torch lit processions, culminating with the sweat-lacquered faces of snarling Brown Shirts reflecting the flames of pyres of burning books. In contrast, the analog in the United States takes place on a hundred million, Cheetos-stained couches, as the corporate media's propaganda by distraction induces fools and tools of the class-stratified, corporate state to gibber about the latest celebrity contretemps.
"If they can get you asking the wrong questions, they don't have to worry about the answers." Thomas Pynchon (from Gravity's Rainbow).
I don't mean to imply one should not fight extant inanity and prevailing idiocy"fight it with a vehemence sacred in its fury. Ironically enough, one must allow oneself to be idiot enough to risk the fight against the proliferation of eternal stupid. Yes, one can win a battle, but the war is endless. But within the fury of the moment, you are fully alive.
Yet every victory is fleeting, and the eternal stupid returns...having no memory of its whipping, and ready for another round. And it will kick your ass from time to time. I have the scars to prove it.