My dream-within-a-dream last night was in black-and-white. It appeared to be some kind of campaign commercial for Gerald Ford. He opened by proudly shouting “to the moon!” Then, music started playing, peppy upbeat campaign jingle music, and Estes Kefauver came out and joined Ford as they sang, er, what may have been a song about the moon program, or maybe not. The two of them were jostling each other for position, though it was clearly a Ford commercial.
Grdaually, the words got harder and harder to make out, the images got less distinct, and the audio faded in and out of static. Eventually, it turned into some kind of Soviet-style socialist-realist propaganda film. I was still clear that this was Gerald Ford campaign materials, but it consisted of nothing more than stirring but stately music under an endless procession of tracking shots of various landmarks from nearly straight above. Maybe “landmarks” is too strong a word; these were mostly billboards and other outdoor pieces of commercialism. I remember most clearly one of a bunch of giant beer bottles, but there were others.
At this point, I woke up into my regular dreams, and spent the rest of them trying to explain to people just how strange my dream had been. Interestingly, although my regular dreams were fairly eclectic, they were nowhere near as odd — lots of graduation stuff, and things that were basically plausible. I ran into people I knew (and told them about my fevered Kefauver dream) and dealt with an unexpectedly closed bookstore. I can see where these things came from. But the inner dream-within-a-dream? I have no idea.