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Project 1917 is a series of events that took place a hundred years ago as described by those involved. It is composed only of diaries, letters, memoirs, newspapers and other documents

I sit alone, slightly drunk. The wine returns my courage to me, sweet murk of life’s sleep, sensuality is a sense of smell and so forth, it is not so simple, there is some essence of earthly existence. In front of me there is a bottle of Nº24 spare. See more

Woke up at 8. Thought that all was over (it was quiet). But no, the cook says that there was artillery fire just now. Now I hear the cracking of shots. The telephone has been turned off for private citizens. Electricity is on. You can’t buy anything to eat. The doorman says he saw around two hundred people marching towards Junker Institute. See more

I woke up at eight o’clock. It was quiet. It seemed as if everything was over. But a minute later, there was a gunshot very close by. Ten minutes later, another. Then the crack of a whip - a shot. And that was how it went on all day. Sometimes there is no firing for an hour, and then the shots would come five or ten times a minute.

We've heard almost no gunfire. Went outside.

I was in town today. Everywhere is indifference - “rubbish, they’ve been saying that for ages”. A couple of soldiers told me that it is to begin at seven. At five I went to the Teleshovs. See more

Men are still saying that the bread is "being shipped" (by who? No one knows) to the Germans. All joy in life has been destroyed by the revolution and war.

There you have the election to the Constituent Assembly. Not a single soul is interested in this. There’s great mountain of Russian people crying out to God. Now I’m happy, where’s this religiousness?! See more

The day before yesterday, I turned forty seven years old. It’s scary to write, although now and then there’s a flicker of comfort- but maybe, that’s just nothing, maybe, I’m exaggerating the significance of these years?

Рано, в шесть, проснулся. Подавленное состояние. Отупел я, обездарел, как живу, что вижу! Позор!   See more

I'm still reading Fet (a lot of vulgarity, very weak, repetitive), trying to write poetry. Turns out very poor.

I woke up at six. Stayed in bed for an hour. I feel down. I'm thinking that the world might grow empty for me soon. Where have my former carelessness and hope gone! My soul feels numb, empty, I've got nothing to say, nothing to write, I'm trying - and it's just a trade, a pathetic, dead one. Yesterday Breshkovsky appealed to the youth - "go educate the people"! 

I avoid going outside. It hurts, something's not right with my throat. It's almost a summer day. I'm still reading Fet. 

The night is dark, it's raining the whole time. I visited the mill today. The men a full of rage on the inside. Talking is pointless!

Please tell me immediately if you have bought tobacco for me. If you have, I will send you money right away. Tell me how much.

It is very cold in the morning, I was behind the garden, leaves were flying from the maple trees, I picked one up.