The existence of zines is no longer relegated to only the nerdiest or hippest sub-sectors of society. Born, the story goes, in the intimate sci-fi newsletters of the 1920s and built on by rabid music and subculture enthusiasts of all kinds, the independent, self-published fanzine has pervaded the public consciousness.

But it is somewhat surprising that zines still exist. If the innovation of cheap photocopying and home-publishing software made zines a viable enterprise from the '60s through the '90s, then surely the Internet, a seemingly more democratic and cost-effective medium, is the next logical step. Why, then, have the zine creators gathering at The Rotunda this Sunday for the Philadelphia Zine Fest decided to stick with paper, staples and Kinko's rather than a slick, Flash-animated website?

"I think that webzines have their place, and are worthwhile in and of themselves," says Justin Duerr, the 27-year-old West Philly creator of Decades of Confusion Feed the Insect, a small black-and-white compilation of dazzling ink art and befuddling poetry and essays. "But I for one -- and I’m sure I’m not alone on this -- think there is a real appeal to being able to hold something in your hands and physically interact with it."

Also, he points out, home computers, omnipresent though they seem to be, are not a day-to-day reality for everybody. Some zine makers only check their e-mail while visiting the library and could never maintain a website. "But they could always write something important on a piece of paper, go to Kinko's and share it with 50 strangers," says Duerr.

The important thing is that his zine at least gets read by somebody, even if the audience is small and the enterprise isn’t profitable. "I believe capitalism has created a cultural void by dictating that art be defined by its selling power and not its power to communicate the spirit. I am not an anti-capitalist, but I do believe that art suffers under capitalism," he explains. "My zine and many others, in their own ways, attempt to fill this niche." Duerr runs off about 25 to 200 copies of each 10- to 40-page issue and distributes it "haphazardly."

Casey Grabowski -- creator of Tric, a free quarterly newsprint publication with a focus on the Delaware music scene -- says the print medium has its way of reaching people the Web just can't compete with. "Someone once said to me, ŒI went into a Borders bookstore bathroom and saw your zine on the floor of the stall,'" he says. "That's how you know you're doing something right." He gets 3,500 copies of each issue of Tric printed in Dover, Del., then drives them to Philly, Baltimore and the beach.

Inspired by similar events in other cities, Grabowski and Andrea Hallowell started Philadelphia Zine Fest as a way to gather like-minded self-publishers in one place to exchange ideas and support. In addition to representatives from more than 25 zines (including those interviewed here), the festival will feature workshops on bookmaking, silk-screening, promotion and distribution. Bands featuring zine creators will also perform.

"I think it will be a great chance for zine writers from Philadelphia and elsewhere to get the same exposure for their art that, say, musicians get all the time," says Hallowell. "As well as a chance for people that maybe don’t know what zines are -- or know but never got involved -- to learn about something new."

"I hope more people show up than just zine nerds," says Grabowski. "I hope bands come and pass out demos, and people just come hang out and have a good time without feeling a need to impress."

Hallowell, whose latest creation is called Almost Everyone I Love Lives in NJ, enjoys the physical labor involved in the zine-making process. "Even if I lay it out mostly on the computer, there is still some element of me sitting around on my bedroom floor with scissors, scraps of paper and a glue stick." She first learned about zines from Sassy's zine-of-the-month features. Now 22, she runs Five Minute Romance, a small distribution company specializing in personal-story zines from across the globe.

"A paper version is so much more real -- and more expensive and time-consuming," asserts Callye Morrissey, a journalism student at the University of Delaware who makes the primitive-looking but smartly written Dotti Horror. It's 22 pages of interviews with her favorite female rockers, live-music reviews and visceral opinion pieces. "My zine is like my little baby; I created it, and I can carry it around."

Somewhere near the other end of the spectrum from its cut-and-paste, black-and-white peers is Justin Luczejko's ambitious music and pop-culture publication, Wonka Vision. It's probably the largest, most successful zine represented at Zine Fest. It is, in fact, quite similar to a regular magazine in terms of format (think Spin's dimensions) and length (issues are typically 92 pages). But the stylish, full-color cover belies the not-quite-mainstream content within: a poetry section, indie-punk and zine reviews, pointed leftist rants and bits of kitschy minutiae. The most recent issue features musicians recalling their most painful dodge ball memories, a requiem for MacGyver and a sex-advice column with rapper Cex. There is an interview with major-label recording artist Adam Duritz of Counting Crows, but it's given the same billing on the cover as the features on indie artists like Dillinger Escape Plan and Q and Not U.

According to Luczejko, 24, the zine started not as a means to make a living (which it is, now), but as a creative outlet for a 17-year-old kid stranded in suburbia. "After being sort of a clone for all my life in Catholic school I needed something of my own, something that I could hold close to [my] heart and nurture." Zine makers will often credit publications as obscure as their own as inspiration; Luczejko cites zines called My World and Muddle as influential predecessors. "These were all just pretty regular people in my eyes who were writing about what was important to them, and in most cases they made me laugh or cry from their personal experiences and taught me more than I ever learned in my four years of high school."

Parts of his zine are mirrored on www.wonkavisionmagazine.com, but Luczejko echoes his peers’ affinity for a tangible zine. "People have talked about print media becoming extinct one day in the near future, but it will never happen," he says. "I believe that people want something more tangible than a high-speed connection and a flat-screen monitor." Although the Internet can fashion a more level playing field -- some snazzy designing can make a small-time operation look comparable to a bigger competitor -- zine creators who choose to compete with actual big-budget magazines can do so without sacrificing their original ideals. If the scope is broad enough, it is possible to find an audience and be rewarded.

Now in its seventh year, Wonka Vision has a circulation of 10,000 copies and can be picked up at places like Tower Records. The print budget doubled over the last year. Along with other full-time designers and editors, Luczejko runs the publication from his Center City apartment. How’s this for a curious symptom of success? A film company called a year ago announcing Mandy Moore picked Wonka Vision to appear in How to Deal, which comes out July 18. "No, I do not know Mandy Moore," jokes Luczejko. "No, I cannot hook you up with her. No, I do not have her phone number."

The First Philadelphia Zine Fest, Sun., July 13, 2-8 p.m., The Rotunda, 4012 Walnut St., 215-573-3234, www.geocities.com/phillyzinefest.