The following lore, included in Lost Nodes Groupies, is based on personal histories of sex, drugs, and rock and roll from the previous century.

Any stories, as told to us, belong solely to the speakers and their memories.

Previously, on groupies.

The kicks just keep getting harder to find. For the rock stars, the Led Zeppelin, the decadence was they had done everything else.

A man came up to me and said, my friend wants to meet you.

And it was John Paul Jones.

And I'm like, oh, shit.

Let me paint for you an image of the early mid-70s on the sunset strip.

Rodney Bingenheimer's English disco was the situation.

The New York dolls, Iggy Pop, David Bowie, bands from all over came to revel in this trashy chic, glitter-bombed jamboree where underage groupies ruled the social hierarchy. The Rainbow Bar and

Grill was raging every night of the week as a place to see and be seen, eat pizza, and score

quailudes in the parking lot.

Down the block, Led Zeppelin was trucking televisions out of windows at the Hyatt House.

All the while, rock journalists from Rolling Stone and NME were scribbling regular dispatches

of a who's who and what's what, what the fuck was on, and who the fuck was fucking who.

But a scene needs more than rock stars and groupies.

It needs fans and wannabes.

I started taking the bus from the suburbs out to Hollywood, you know, and very bold in all my finery.

That's Kid Congo Powers, Future Punk Legend, but then just an aspiring scene kid who fluttered down to the strip to immerse himself in glitter and glam.

I would probably wear some patchwork bell bottom pants that I had got from the mall.

And I had some platform wedging shoes, like kind of sandal, pat platforms that I had decorated with rhinestones and with a lightning bolt on them. And I had cut my hair in the shag hair,

a David Bowie-esque thing.

...