To some, he is The Kid. To others he is The Minneapolis Genius. To others still, he’s That Guy Who Ripped Me Off On That Last Tour Playing Condensed Songs From That Crummy Movie, Purple Rain, Which He Also Ripped Me Off On, Come To Think Of It.

To me, though, he is simply Prince. And I often dream of him.

Sometimes my dreams are simple (just Prince and myself talking) and other times they’re complex (Prince and myself playing checkers in Hell). In either case, they’re enriching beyond belief, for they give me a rare insight into a man I admire above all others. (It wouldn’t be going too far to say that I actually want to be Prince. I would settle, however, for Rex or “qood boy.”)

“So”—I pose your question for you— ‘‘what? He dreams about Prince. I do that myself, on occasion.” I beg to point out: my dreams are better than yours. Technically, they’re splendid, like a wellmade video. They’re informative. They bear every indication of being real.

And, in fact, they are real. Yes, incredible as it seems, Prince and I actually communicate in the land of Nod. How this happened—I suspect we both received serious blows to our respective heads by •two big rocks, which were fragments of the same meteor, at the exact same time some years ago and then forgot about it—is anyone’s guess. The point is that this man of musical genius and I are psychically linked and will probably remain so until those big rocks hit us again (and what a coincidence that would be!).

In presenting the following story— admittedly, a bizarre one—I’m only too aware that it might make me the object of scorn and ridicule. Some people might not even believe me. Yet I feel strongly that the time is right to go public with information privy only to myself. Readers may scoff at some of what I say—for example, Prince often asks me to be his best friend in these dreams—yet the conversations are accurate and reveal, I think, something of Prince’s true nature. Read what follows skeptically, but keep in mind how much of life remains a mystery. And watch out for big rocks.

• • •

(From a dream in early January, in which the author and Prince were waiting for a bus. The “waiting” metaphor is not uncommon in dreams of this sort and may crop up again if the author remembers to use it.)

So when do you think that bus will get here?

I don’t know.

I guess we’ll just have to wait.

Yeah.

Do you remember that dream I had where me and Jimi Hendrix were waiting for the bus?

I do. You told me about it.

Do you think that dream was one of your major influences? People must wonder.

I think they only wonder about that because we’re both black. We’re really very different, dream-wise. I think that when I appear in dreams, as I often do in yours, it’s, like, a cleaner appearance than when Jimi shows up.

Well, here comes the bus.

Good. By the way, would you be my best friend? And advise me on everything? With my best interests at heart? And help me be a better person?

I guess.

(This late-January dream found Prince and the author playing checkers in Hell’s lake of eternal fire. As we join the action, Prince is undecided as to who moves first.)

What is it, fire B4 smoke? Heck. C’mon, man, R U kidding me?

(To himself) He’s trying to agit8 me to gain an advantage in this checkers showdown. I just know it. (Aloud) So why do you figure we’re having this dream in Hell’s lake of eternal fire? Do you want me to talk to God about this?

No, it’s OK. Besides, I don’t want you bothering the Creator of the Universe every time you play a show or make a record. Is that getting on His nerves yet?

No, it’s cool. He’s a caring God; a studio-wise God.

You guys seem pretty tight.

It’s solid.

I guess we’re condemned to this checkers match in Hell because of your lyrics, mostly. And my Starship review awhile back there.

You were mean about that. I don’t see where my songs have anything to do with this mess, though. “Darling Nikki”...“Soft And Wet”...“Do Me, Baby”...“Irresistible Bitch,” and others— they’re pretty mundane titles when you get right down to it. It was that darned Starship review, thenlm

YeaffeAnd we can't even figure out who moves first.

(In the first week of February, Prince paid a nocturnal visit to tell the author all about his next movie)

Boy, Pm glad we’re not in Hell this time. Where are we, anyway^m^^M We’re in France.

Are we waiting for a bus, or what?

. -No—I’m shooting a movie here.

Wow. Do you get to play yourself againt

Unfortunately not. I’m a pianist named Christopher.

Let me make a note to tell the Bangles.

Hey, there is some crossover there. You’re a good friend to point that out. Anyway, Jerome Benton and I are both in love with the same girl. And get this— she’s real rich.

This Is dramatic tension hitherto undreamed of.

Yeah, we should dream about this dramatic tension more. So do you think it’s the best idea for a movie yet? And not just because I’m directing it?

I sure do. ■ What's It catted?

Under The Cheery Moon,

Uh oh. I see trouble here.

What do you mean?

ft sounds like a light but ultimately unfl satisfying romp starring Herman’s Hermits. Change it to “Cherry Moon.”mm Yeah!

And if you ’re planning on cashing in by releasing an album—

Give it some innocuous title, OK?

OK! How about.,.Event?

No. Too Duranish. How about Parade?

Parade\ It sounds like me. OK, Parade it is. I sure hope you’ll continue to be my best Iriend and give me all this good

I'll sleep on it.

(By March, the dreams were a-comin’ nightly, as the erstwhile duo solidified their friendship. This particular dream found them in a bar, waiting for a So when do you think those drinks will get here?

I don’t

Well, at least these dreams are internally consistent. How's the press been treating you?

TURN TO PAGE 56

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 18

Pretty good. I seem to be untouchable; kind of the Teflon pop star. Except for that one major feature in your magazine last year —who’s that guy that wrote it?

Holdship.

Yeah, Bill Holdship. What’s he got, a problem?

Dunno, Prince. But—to be fair—it’s not like you gave him an interview.

I don’t do interviews; I do dreams.

I can respect that.

Besides, you writers just write for other writers. Remember when I said that to Neal Karlen in Rolling Stone last year?

“Prince Talks—The Silence Is Broken.” Who could forget that journalistic landmark in the September 12th issue of that illustrious magazine? Which, by the way, is probably still available at a modest mark-up.

Yeah. I did go on there, didn’t I?

You did. It was information redefined.

But, see, I think it’s better that you and I can get together in the dream-state like this. In a way, it’s like a commentary on my everchanging music or my very image.

Yeah, there is a ladder-esque quality to this whole thing.

Exactly. It’s the snow-in-April scenario.

I heard that.

(And by April, Prince was getting tired of showing up in the author’s dreams. This final installment tells of their eventual falling-out... and the consequences thereof.)

Hi, Prince. What’s up tonight?

This psychic link is really starting to get to me, man. I can’t get any rest when I’m all the time explaining my life to you.

Hey, I didn’t throw that big rock at you.

Yeah, I know. It was inscrutable fate. But now you’re probably going to write up our conversations—they would make an outstanding book, I think—but I’m not sure that’s right.

Why not?

It’s like an invasion of my privacy.

So why don’t you have your bodyguard dream he’s beating me up?

Don’t have to. I went to a hypnotist and he said he can keep my astral self from wandering.

He doesn’t even need the meteor?

Nope. Just this little spot on the wall for me to stare at. So this is the last time I’m showing up in your dreams. It’s over.

And you know what? I don’t even care!

You’re kidding.

Nope.

I thought you liked dreaming about me. Oh, I do. But I figured you might try something like this, so I went to a hypnotist, too. Before you did. Just today, in fact. And...?

Oh, he had me stare at this little spot and explained that—should I dream of you again...say, tonight—I would have the power to send your astral self anywhere I wanted. Forever.

What are you talking about??

Like Hell’s lake of eternal fire... where we could play checkers any time I felt like it.

(Prince starts fading.) Wait! Don’t—

See you tomorrow night!

—i don’t even know who moves first! Aieee! (He fades completely.)

My Starship review, indeed. Zzzzz. E