This website is free to access which is made possible by displaying online advertisements to visitors. Please consider supporting the site by disabling your ad blocker or whitelisting the website. If you see any inappropriate ads, please feel free to contact me. Learn more here.
At first, she was just a voice born in a galactic wash station. A vibrant, powerful, insolent voice that sang of queer love, toxic glitter, and freedom under neon lights. A voice that couldn't be ignored, and today, she's an icon of Clint City, where she roams in limousines suspended by drones, with iridescent aluminum capes, interstellar mascara, and a half-human, half-holographic crew. Her style? Ultra pop glam-trash, between kitsch genius and emotional uppercut. Her latest album? Cosmic Tears on a Latex Dancefloor, number 1 on all the charts – even among the Oculus (yes, even Valosy cried). The Uppers love her for her magnetic aura and her ability to make the like counters explode in the red zone.
