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This just reads as a teenager trying to be edgy and profound whilst using achingly dull prose. You get that same empty feeling you might have watching tv for days on end over the course of 200 pages. Momentarily you think the author is about to take recurring themes and take them somewhere before he collapses into some grim, poorly written testament on consumerism.
I think 'drug-addled teen in prominent LA' has a lot of potential, but just went no-where. Ellis is trying to do things books like The Goldfinch did well with depersonalisation and symbolism, but god it's just so dreary. He'll come at you with a disturbing scene just to give the drivel some momentum.
Was decent to just give me something to do, and I suppose the fact I disliked it so much means he succeeded somewhat artistically, but it's just not the book for me. I would love for someone to just tear this to pieces and rewrite it with some more distinguishable narrative flow. The prose used amplifies the hellish dreamscape that's being build, and the Great Gatsby-esque prominence of the sign and random phrasing could've taken this somewhere. 

not great

"I move at last from the mirror and begin to cover that nakedness which I must hold scared, though it be never so vile, which must be scoured perpetually with the salt of my life. I must believe, that the heavy grace of God, which has brought me to this place, is all that can carry me out of it."