The Internet by definition, does not exist. It is an abstraction that nobody has seen, smelled, or touched. It is a myth used to shift our belief systems and dramatically alter our behaviour. It transforms our linguistic framework by changing the context in which language interacts with mind. It is a redefinition of literacy as the linguistic system itself becomes simultaneously individual and collective.
Today, in its (the World Wide Web) clumsy, larval, curiously innocent way, it offers us the opportunity to waste time, to wander aimlessly, to daydream about the countless other lives, the other people, on the far sides of however many monitors in that postgeographical meta-country we increasingly call home. It will probably evolve into something considerably less random, and less fun — we seem to have a knack for that — but in the meantime, in its gloriously unsorted Global Ham Television Postcard Universes phase, surfing the Web is a procrastinator’s dream. And people who see you doing it might even imagine you’re working.
William Gibson, “The Net Is a Waste of Time, And that’s exactly what’s right about it”