 Blood, Sugar, Sex, Death - Cafe Utopia The camera has jumped its tracks. The camera and sound-man (his headphones crackling with the sound of cat suits snagging on cactus needles) are tractor-beamed through the directorial microphone into the director s lungs. A sift through the butt strewn sediments uncovers a buried secret....the angst twisted skeletons sipping jave in Cafe Utopia. From the Soundman s notes: Day 1.